


Creatures of the Dark

by cuddlydreamsonrainydays



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Case Fic, Child Abuse, Eating Disorders, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moreid, They Talk About Rape, Triggers, but nothing explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-05-19 17:52:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 56,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5975940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlydreamsonrainydays/pseuds/cuddlydreamsonrainydays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The worst enemy that you can fight against is your own mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Criminal Minds.  
> Don't read if you can be triggered by mentions of child abuse, anorexia, low self-esteem or mild homophobia.

_**“We are our best during the night** _   
_**Creatures of the dark** _   
_**Not meant to shine** _   
_**Broken, but still works of art.” - cuddlydreamsonrainydays** _

_“Why are you even an agent? You worthless piece of shit. You aren’t more than a fucking child, you weakling! You think you’re so intelligent, but you don’t even notice that they don’t care about you. You’d sacrifice yourself for them, but do you really believe that they’d do the same? How naïve you are. Look at them; they’re strong, and perfect, they scream FBI agent from afar. But you? You’re ugly, you don’t even have any muscle, you don’t fit in with them. Don’t you realize that you’re a baby compared to them? Idiot. You deserve not being loved back by those you call family. Worthless brat.”_

The words kept playing in Spencer Reid’s head, over and over. It was even starting to bother him doing his paperwork, and seeing as his brain was normally able to do quite a lot of things at the same time, he knew that he should get rid of the issue before anyone noticed that the last Unsub had left his traces. Technically, he also knew that the man was mentally ill, completely out of his mind. He knew that he shouldn’t care about something that a sociopath told him seconds before directing his gun at his own head. But the words that he was never going to forget again – situations like these did make him hate his eidetic memory – kept nagging him despite all logic. Kept influencing him, worst of all. He was too far gone for actual logic. _Spencer Reid_ , too far gone for _logic_. Of course he’d noticed that he wasn’t the ideal FBI agent. Hell, he was younger than anyone in his team, he was clumsy, and he wasn’t even able to shoot a gun properly! Compared to his fellow agents, he really was a twelve year old. He’d read a lot of books. He had three PhDs and two Bachelors. But everything he knew could be looked up on the Internet. His teammates would be better off with another strong agent in the field who was actually fit and able to hit what he was aiming for with one bullet, not five. With someone else like Morgan.

“Kid? Hey, kid, don’t space out on us. You’ve got to do some of my paperwork for me, I can’t possibly read all of this ‘til this evening.” Morgan laughed loudly, but he managed to wake Spencer up out of his trance only when he threw a stack of files from his pile directly onto the younger agent’s. Spencer shook his head to get rid of the bugging thoughts in his head. He needed to focus. They couldn’t kick him out of the team, it was everything he had. So he opened the next file and skimmed the pages as fast as he could, having to squint because his vision was annoyingly blurry. The thoughts kept coming back, though, not leaving him alone.

“What’s going on with you?” Morgan called over, surprised that he wasn’t getting any protest. “You okay there, boy genius?”

“I’m fine, Morgan,” Spencer finally answered. He was shocked himself how fed up he sounded. Since when did he get annoyed so easily, especially at Morgan? “Just a bit tired.”

“If you say so.” Morgan shrugged. He stood up, but he didn’t head towards Spencer’s desk. He headed in the opposite direction towards Garcia’s office without a second glance at the younger agent. Spencer, left bitterly unsurprised as to how quickly he’d gotten away with the lie facing a profiler, buried himself in his paperwork again, attempting to block out the world, but he still wasn’t able to focus properly. Of course he’d get his work done nevertheless, and Morgan’s as well, but while he was as usually able to block out anything and everything around him, he wasn’t able to block out the voice inside his head.

“ _You think you’re so intelligent…they don’t care about you… they don’t care about you… worthless… naïve…_ Spence! Reid!”

“Huh?” Spencer jumped, actually jumped this time, cursing internally when he realized that the voice calling him wasn’t inside his head anymore. It was JJ, looking at him with her brows furrowed, even waving her hands in front of his face. “Sorry! Do we have a case?”

“No, silly. The team’s just decided to check out that new Chinese restaurant as today’s a slow day, and to celebrate that we have the first entire week off from tomorrow on in like what, a year probably. You coming along?”

_“See, **silly**? The team’s already decided, they don’t even want you to come along. You should stay here and do your paperwork, you’ve been awfully slow this morning, dumbass. Maybe if you skip lunch once more, you’ll get fit like them someday, maybe they’ll actually like you one day. Do you really think you deserve a break, and greasy Chinese food?”_

“I- uh, I’ll stay, I guess. Thanks,” he murmured, looking down at the open file on his desk. “I’m not that hungry.” Not even wondering when the voice in his head, that Unsub’s voice that he wasn’t able to get out of his head, had started to say new phrases as well instead of repeating itself all over. Was it even still the Unsub in his mind?

“See you later, then.” He heard them leave one by one, identifying each of them without even looking up – Hotch’s calm, controlled steps, Rossi’s certain rhythm that always reminded him of a dance, Morgan’s energetic steps accompanied by Garcia’s quick ones on high talons, JJ and Emily with lighter steps and less high talons, talking. The bullpen was empty when he looked up again, and sighed.

He’d barely gone through fifty files when they got back, chatting animatedly. Morgan’s flamboyant laugh whirred through the room, somehow painful to his ears. Maybe that was because the older agent was actively avoiding him. To get to his desk, the mathematically calculated shortest way was directly past Spencer’s desk. It was, aside from the obvious logic, also the way that Morgan always took, sometimes ruffling through his friend’s hair, sometimes patting him on the shoulder. Morgan had never gotten straight to work before this had started two weeks, four days, nine hours and twenty-one minutes ago, this strange attitude and distance.

Spencer fought back the thoughts that were creeping up on him again. He couldn’t be distracted. His stomach rumbled, but he’d learned to find the feeling of emptiness to be weirdly satisfying. It would really do him good to eat even less, he decided, and trying to build some muscle in addition to the running habit he’d taken up on two weeks, three days, eight hours and fifty-six minutes ago wasn’t a bad idea either. He was only getting fit after all. (He ignored the voice in his head that told it was physically impossible to build muscle on a zero calorie diet, just as much as he ignored the voice that told him how it was about as impossible to live on a zero calorie diet. It wasn’t like he didn’t eat anything. And that small voice was easy to ignore, while that other one wasn’t. Spencer wanted to have it easy sometimes, too.)

The memory of Dilaudid in his system was still painfully fresh. Back then, Morgan had still cared. He had cared the months after Tobias Hankel, too, constantly checking in on Spencer, insisting after every difficult case that they talk, and sometimes even sleeping over to make sure the younger didn’t fall back into his addiction. All of that had gotten less and less during the past two weeks, and of course Spencer had noticed after a while. Too late, still. _“And you call yourself a genius. Where is all that IQ of yours now?”_ The Unsub had shot himself right under Spencer’s eyes, and Morgan had seen it, had come in just when the gunshot was fired. The man was dead just because he hadn’t been able to talk him out of it, or at least make him wait long enough for Morgan to arrive and help him. Damn, of course he was craving Dilaudid, was craving to forget, so much that his vision blurred regularly and his mind wandered away from the letters in front of his eyes. _“See? You’re not even a real FBI agent. You’re useless in the field, and now you can’t even do paperwork anymore. Soon they will realize that they can find someone better than you. Someone who fits in better with them.”_

Morgan was on the phone, now, of course not working. He was _flirting_ , talking with that damned deep voice and the quirky smile on his lips that made Spencer’s heart beat faster for some reason. He didn’t _want_ that, he didn’t want to _acknowledge_ that. And he didn’t want to eavesdrop, but Morgan’s voice was just so loud, he couldn’t help it.

“Hey, Savannah,” Derek said, and it just made it worse that he wasn’t talking to Garcia, but to a woman that he hooked up with somewhat regularly. It was not as much as a secret as would probably be appropriate at a work place that Derek didn’t do relationships, but liked to… play around. Nicely said. How much he displayed it at work, though, had kind of gotten extreme lately. Not that it was any of Spencer’s business, but Morgan made it the entire team’s business.

“You busy tonight? Wanna meet… Yeah, good, half nine. Yeah, we’re on vacation… okay… uh-huh… Yeah, still at work, but it’s just the paperwork… Oh, you know me!” He laughed then, and Spencer stood up abruptly, ignoring the dizziness and walking straight out of the room. He went to the bathroom, staring at himself under the everything but flattering blue light. It made the shadows under his eyes look even worse than they already were, and Spencer quickly lowered his glance. His hands were white from how tight he was gripping the edge of the sink, and shaking. It took him five, maybe ten minutes until he had calmed down enough to get back to his desk, where he sat down without a word, and picked up the last few files that separated him from a week of vacation. A week of being alone, or, as one could say just as well, loneliness in his deserted apartment, surrounded by nothing but books. He liked books, and he did often prefer them to people. He might’ve looked forward to spending quality time just with them if he’d actually chosen to rest calm. But right now Spencer needed every possible distraction. He hadn’t craved the bittersweet relief of the narcotics in his blood as much as in this moment for over a year, and admittedly it was scaring him. All happiness in his life was numb already; the drugs, numbing the pain, would finally make him nothing, just a foggy memory of what had once been. And oh, how much a part of him wanted to be nothing.

Another part of him though wanted to fight, wanted to stay, to resist. But he had no choice. _“You’re just afraid of leaving because you know that they don’t want you to come back anyways. They’ll forget about you, and you know it. They don’t care whether you take those drugs. They’ll be happy if you overdose and **accidentally** kill yourself, it’ll give them one less thing to worry about. You’re only a bother to them. You’re a bother to everyone. That is why you don’t want a vacation. You have no excuse not to work out now, coward. There’s more than enough fucking time.”_

Even though he still didn’t manage to read as fast as he was used to, the last few files didn’t take him more than fifteen minutes to go through, so he slowly gathered his stuff and waved a hasty goodbye to the members of his team.

“Enjoy your vacation, Spence,” JJ called after him, and Emily jokingly mocked: “Don’t let the books eat you.”

“Thanks, girls, you too,” he mumbled, staring at his ever trembling hands. _(“Don’t eat,” the voice in his head whispered smugly, “look, she thinks you’re fat as well, pig.”)_

“See you Monday in a week, Reid,” Hotch greeted, nodding as he left his separate office, heading towards JJ’s, and Rossi told him to relax and sleep a bit because apparently the rings under his eyes couldn’t be cured by coffee anymore. As if Spencer hadn’t noticed that ugly default in his face already. He thanked him with a strained smile that didn’t reach his tired eyes, and forced the corners of his mouth to go yet a bit further up as Garcia squealed something after him that he wasn’t quite able to distinguish. He was pretty sure it contained something about Doctor Who and muffins. When he added a “Bye, Morgan,” just to be polite (and maybe, maybe because he wanted to, because there was always that tiny bit of hope that hadn’t yet left his chest), the older agent merely hummed, focused on his phone. Spencer tried not to care about any of it; Morgan was the only one being honest after all, he wasn’t to blame. _“That’s right, you piece of shit, you’re finally learning. They’re just pretending to like you, all they want you to do is the paperwork they don’t like, just open your fucking eyes already. Are you a genius now or are you really as dumb as you seem?”_

Spencer held in his frustrated scream until he had left the FBI building of Quantico, Virginia and when he broke into his ten mile run home, it turned into a sob. His converse weren’t ideal for running, and his heavy bag’s leather strap cut uncomfortably into his shoulder, but he ran through the dawn nevertheless. The sharp pain in his feet, sides and lungs didn’t matter; if anything, it urged him on. He only stared at the pavement right in front of his steps, only focused on not fainting. The staring people that he passed didn’t bother him. They didn’t know him anyways. When he finally got home, he chugged three big glasses of water to ease the hunger pains clawing at his stomach, and he did push-ups and sit-ups on his wooden bedroom floor until he passed out into a dreamless, but fitful sleep.

Two weeks, four days and sixteen hours ago, he’d hated the Unsub whose words were burned into his memory.

Now, Spencer Reid hated no one but himself.


	2. Chapter 2

“ _Derek Morgan_. I really appreciate you so obviously craving to see me this often before we go on vacation, but damn, this is the third time within fifty-six minutes that my eyes are gifted with your beautiful body. Don’t you have anything to do? Because I have. And don’t you baby girl me now.”

Garcia barely turned around for a second when Derek slid into her office almost sheepishly already late in the afternoon, never cessing to type away on her glittery keyboard. While she wouldn’t look at him for more than half a second, apparently really busy with lord knew what merely hours before a vacation, the unicorn plushy sitting on her computer screen was as always staring at him with its unnaturally bright blue glass eyes, judging him.

“But Mama,” he drawled, putting his hands on her shoulders softly and deliberately massaging them just the way it relaxed her muscles, sore from sitting hunched in front of numerous computer screens all day, knowing that would always convince her to do everything for him. As expected she turned away from the screen that was covered entirely in some html-code, offering him a cheeky smile and wiggling her eyebrows. “Paperwork is so boring, and you, my baby girl, excite me.”

“Well, go bother Reid! You’re overusing nicknames. I’ve got more important things to do if I actually want a vacation, and god knows I need it as much as I need some cute kittens. _I_ won’t do your work on top of mine. There is no such thing as paper in my lair and there will not be, I have electronics.”

“Ouch, baby girl, that one _hurt_!” It was a shot close to home, because, in fact, he didn’t even know why he wasn’t bothering Reid. He normally would’ve bothered Reid a lot more than just throwing him a stack of files as he’d done before lunch. He’d force the kid to come eat with them, because it was common knowledge that the boy genius tended to forget about simplicities like his food intake when he was focused, and he was skinny as a stick. As bored (and eager to avoid the dusty files on his desk) as he was, he would willingly listen to the kid ramble on about quantum physics, high level chemistry or anything equally boring in exchange for a stack of files less on his desk and a happy glint in his younger co-worker’s eyes. But there was a reason why he quit the bullpen so often this not-so-normal day that by now it annoyed even Garcia. Or the last two weeks. Garcia ignored his comment, but she stopped typing once again and spun around on her desk chair, fixing him with furrowed eyebrows.

“Wait a moment, sugar.” Her feathery pink pen pointed towards him. “Why aren’t you looking at me? Uh-uh. _You_ are not getting away with this.”

“With what?” Derek feigned innocence, but one didn’t need to be a profiler to hear his voice shake for a tiny moment. And Garcia, apart from working with profilers all day every day, simply knew him too well. “Listen, you’re right Mama, I really should get some more work done…”

“Nope, Derek, just nope. Talk.” She had the audacity then to grab his wrist, surprising him so much that he _stumbled_ towards her. Talking would not make anything better though. It would just make him think about that weird feeling somewhere in the far back of his conscience. “Or, wait, wait! Let me interrogate you. This will be fun. Let’s play FBI.”

Derek rolled his eyes at her idea of fun, but Garcia left him no choice. She was grinning from ear to ear, clearing her throat exaggeratedly, and then she gestured for him to sit down. Her attempts to stop grinning and keep a serious face failed dramatically considering she did have some experience with acting.

“You and Reid,” she stated, dryly. (He guessed that it was supposed to be an imitation of Hotch. It was a bad one.) “What the hell is going on, chocolate thunder?”

“Okay, first of all, don’t pretend I’m a suspect or whatever you’d want to call that, and then call me chocolate thunder.” Derek smirked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You know, _baby girl_ , the FBI interrogating someone isn’t really like that. We’re _hard core_ , and we teach this shit. Come on, intimidate me. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“I was trying to build some trust,” Garcia said, sticking her tongue out at the man in front of her. “But apparently Mister I’m-the-most-badass-profiler stands above mundane things like that. What I did remark though, because, even if you might’ve not noticed as you do seem to be quite dumb at the moment, I have been with the FBI for quite a while, is that you’re not answering my question. And that tells me that you just lied to me seconds ago, because you definitely _are_ hiding something. What is going on with you and _Spencer Reid_?”

And, shit.

“Nothing,” he said, trying hard not to bite his lip. Technically he could’ve very well profiled himself1, and very well found out that he was getting defensive, obviously hiding something (Garcia was right). But a behavioural analyst was nothing but a human being, and Derek Morgan was not immune to denial. “Nothing extraordinary.”

“I see,” Garcia mused. “So your friendship of years is nothing to you? Remember the Hankel case?” She shuddered, Derek noticed, despite her tough act. Garcia still wasn’t made for the field. She was the absolute best behind her computer screen, here in her lair, but facing criminals wasn’t her thing, and every new case seemed to be more horrible than the one before, especially if her babies were involved. Not that he was a criminal. “Remember how close you were after that? I would’ve bet my Doctor Who figurine collection that you were secretly shagging. I was offended even that you just wouldn’t tell me! Luckily I didn’t, that collection means a damn lot to me. Anyways. I mean, I know about fraternization rules and all of that bullshit, but since when does the BAU care about the orders from high up? But now obviously you’ve changed. What is this about, Derek?”

“I’m not _gay_ ,” he blurted out, then: “Buford.” His eyes widened immediately. What? “Damn… Baby girl, listen. I don’t know where the hell that came from, I….” Where had that come from? Why did he suddenly feel the need to insist on his sexuality? He was straight, and he’d always been straight, and he wasn’t going to change. And how had Garcia of all people gotten it, whatever _it_ was, out of him, the only one of the team that didn’t make interrogating the worst of the worst a habit, the _technical_ analyst? She was not a _behavioural_ analyst. And what by all heavens did Carl Buford have to do with his weird feeling towards Spencer that _didn’t even exist_? His knuckles were going white from how hard he was clenching his hands to fists.

Garcia made a sound that was half crying, half laughing, and thus ended up sounding only half human, half like a dying possum. The interrogation was over.

“Oh, Derek,” she said soothingly. He recognized that voice. She talked to Henry like that, and sometimes to JJ or Emily after a hard case or when they were going through some women problems that he couldn’t quite grasp. It was her little-vulnerable-children voice, and Derek was a lot of things, but not a vulnerable little child. “You really _care_ for boy genius, don’t you?” She hesitated for a moment when Derek’s jaw tensed, her brain working as visibly as the whirring computers behind her, and then added: “There’s nothing wrong with how you feel, sugar. It’s perfectly normal, and I love you all the same.”

That did it. He stood up abruptly, shaking Garcia’s hand off briskly and stormed out of her office. Fuck. _Fuck_ this, all of it! From his position slightly above the bullpen he could see Spencer hunched over his desk, he could see those damn curls that he just wanted to bury his hands in and he could imagine those sinful rosy lips of Reid’s. He couldn’t deny any longer how insanely attracted he was to the younger agent, but it felt so wrong. It made him want to retch, to puke his guts out. Thinking about Carl Buford made him physically sick, so much that he could only run to the bathroom and empty the contents of his stomach into a toilet. Dragging himself over to the sink, holding on to sheer life with his hands on the cool material, he stared at his face in the mirror. He looked terrible. The cold water that he splashed into his face didn’t help a lot, so Derek Morgan decided that he needed a distraction, and he needed even more distance to Spencer Reid. _They_ could never work out as anything remotely more than friends. Losing Reid as a friend too, though, might break him. They needed distance, badly. He’d never been this glad about a vacation.

He pulled himself together and walked back to his desk, not letting any of the storm that was going on inside him show, and hit up Savannah. (Not for a second did he feel bad about flaunting his love, or rather sex life right under Reid’s ears when he could just as well made the call somewhere a bit more discreet. Reid didn’t flinch. He didn’t seem to care at all, simply standing up at one point and leaving the bullpen to go to the bathroom. Derek ended the call quickly after that, suddenly feeling ashamed. Thinking about Savannah didn’t get him excited anymore, the call had rather felt like a routine, like a thing to do. Want a distraction, someone to fuck with no boundaries or thoughts, showing of your FBI muscle power? Call Savannah, or one of those other girls that were saved in his phone with just their names and sometimes just their numbers. It wasn’t like he ever did anything non-consensual. And the girls always knew before he initiated anything that there’d never been more between them than just the physical part. Today though Derek felt that the only person not really giving consent maybe was himself.

He pushed the feeling away. When Reid left first in the evening, he refused to look up, even sinking as low as pretending to text to not have the image of the genius burned into his mind for the entire vacation, he didn’t need that. Apart from that being a childish way of handling a problem ( _that shouldn’t even exist in the first place and that he would not acknowledge)_ it was no help.

Derek woke up alone in his bed the next day at noon when his phone rang. It sounded rather like a fire alarm going off right next to his head which pounded as if someone was constantly hitting it with a hammer. Hard. From the inside. The dim sunlight getting into his room from through the beige curtains was already too much for him. Those symptoms were neither new to him nor very worrying. He just prayed that the phone call wasn’t Hotch telling them all that sadly, their vacation had to be postponed because some stupid asshole of a serial killer hadn’t been able to control his urges. It wasn’t like his hangover would seriously keep him from working, no, he was used to that.

The least he needed right now though was to be faced with Reid, after what had happened the night before, and was the reason Savannah had stormed out instead of staying the night as she normally did. He pushed the thought out of his mind quickly. Reid’s face shouldn’t be with him all the time, neither those sinful lips nor those beautiful curls and definitely not that perfect ass. _Fuck_.

“Special Agent Derek Morgan?”

“Chocolate Thunder, you sound atrocious. And I though your normal morning voice was raspy. I really hope that you don’t look as bad as you sound because boy, you’d be in for quite something. And don’t tell me that you’ve managed to get yourself run over by a truck.” Garcia chuckled. Her energy practically poured through the phone and Derek pulled a face, rushing to get some distance between his ear and the speakers.

“Shut it, baby girl,” the agent moaned, shielding his eyes with his free hand. “You’ve woken me up, so this better be important.”

“You didn’t say goodbye to me yesterday,” she stated. “You did, though, say goodbye to everyone else, from which I conclude that you’re avoiding me, and I’m so not fine with that.”

“Where’re you taking all that energy from, Mama?”

“I don’t spend all of my energy on hooking up and dancing the night away, and I normally search answers on the internet, not at the bottom of a bottle, my dear. I just don’t look as smoking as you do when you go at it,” she teased. “I’ve seen you dancing, hot stuff, and I never needed to watch any porn ever again.”

“Bet you that you could outshine me on every dancefloor, goddess,” Derek mused with a light chuckle. He attempted to get up and stopped abruptly halfway through the process as a wave of nausea hit him. “Fuck, I need an aspirin and some water.”

“Flattering me won’t make me forget about my question, though you got a close shot there. And I’m afraid you’ll need to get out of bed for that, sugar, even though I much prefer you in it. Waking up alone has its downsides. So, why is my favourite FBI hottie avoiding me?”

“Flattering me won’t get you any more information,” Derek groaned. He had managed to get up and was now dragging himself towards his kitchen, where he could get a drink to ease his sore throat and where the aspirin pills were conveniently stored in a cupboard. “I’m sorry, though, baby girl. It has nothing to do with you.”

“Apology accepted.” Garcia’s voice went softer. “So I assume you have thought about our talk yesterday?”

Silence spread between them for a moment when Derek gulped down the cool drink that immediately eased the burn in his throat, and swallowed the pill that would hopefully make that damned pounding go away soon.

“I have,” he then admitted. “Can’t say I like thinking about it, though. Can we… just not talk about it maybe? I’ll buy you one of those fancy drinks that you call coffee, and we’ll just forget about it for now? I’ll even look at those cat videos with you.”

“If you say so, chocolate thunder,” she sighed. “But I’ll have you promise that it’ll be me who you talk to as soon as you feel ready. Meet me at my favourite coffee shop in fifty.”

The line clicked. Derek stared at his phone with raised eyebrows and half a desperate grin on his face. Garcia could be bossier than Hotch sometimes, but meeting up with her probably would do him good anyways. He definitely needed to shower first though. Now that the pounding was lessening steadily, the smell of alcohol, smoke and sweat on his skin bugged him more and more. He didn’t really remember the end of the night, but something told him that it was probably for the better, and Derek liked to trust his instincts when it came to hungover mornings. The shower got rid of the smell and the sticky feeling all over his body, but it still didn’t get rid of the image of Reid that kept creeping back into his mind.

And even worse, it didn’t get rid of the image of Carl Buford laughing at him.

Those thoughts needed to go away. He needed to forget.

**_“Nothing can drive one closer to his own insanity than a haunting memory refusing his own death.” – Darnell Ford_ **


	3. Chapter 3

**_“For the most part, we live numb to life – we’ve grown weary and apathetic and jaded… and wounded.” – Ann Voskamp_ **

Spencer’s phone rang on Wednesday mid-afternoon. It wasn’t like he’d been aware of the time, or only the day for that matter, before looking at the obnoxiously bright screen of his mobile. The device was almost out of battery, too; he hadn’t charged it once since Friday, and those batteries never held for long even when the phone wasn’t in use. Just like his body’s energy reserves. He was dizzy just lying flat on the hard wooden floor. When had he last eaten? Oh, yes. Monday morning he’d eaten four sticks of celery and a quarter of a cucumber as well as six almonds. When had he last moved? Tuesday evening, roughly seventeen hours ago. He’d attempted to do sit-ups, but he must’ve fallen asleep after three hundred twenty seven, because that was the last number he remembered. There was a metallic taste in his mouth, which was weird because he did not remember biting the inside of his cheek.

The rational part that still lingered somewhere in a far corner of his mind told him that if that call meant a new case, he was fucked.

_“Serves you right. You can’t even stand a little diet, weakling. Everyone on your team manages to stay in shape while working, just not you. You’re pathetic. Pull yourself together. Just that you can count all of your ribs now instead of knowing how many there are doesn’t mean that you’re skinny enough yet. What’ll happen after this week, when you’ll have to work again? You need to get stronger.”_

“Dr. Spencer Reid speaking,” he croaked out when he’d managed to get the phone up to his ear. His back was aching already from the light stretch, probably due to sleeping on the floor instead of in his bed right next to him. He was positive that his spine area was bruised, as well as his hip bones and his shoulders. Technically he was privy to the knowledge that once a body had no natural fat reserves anymore, the skin would bruise a lot easier. That didn’t keep the bruises from hurting though, and it didn’t keep him from feeling the fat on his body either.

“Spence!” JJ’s bubbly voice came from his phone’s speaker, loud and happy and oblivious of the condition he was in. “How are you? Enjoying your break?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” he lied, trying not to make his voice sound as unused as it did. It did not quite work.

“Have I woken you up? I’m sorry! You shouldn’t read that long at night, Spence, it’s not healthy. You need sleep!” She giggled. There was a noise in the background, a child calling out something. Henry. Spencer felt his heart ache.

“It’s alright, JJ. You know me, I never have a proper sleep pattern.” Oh, if only she did.

“I just thought I’d call because Henry and I, we’ve already gone for brunch with Garcia, Morgan and Prentiss today. Henry had so much fun, he keeps talking about the team. I’m afraid that we’ve created another future FBI agent. I can already see how much I’ll have to worry about him when I’ve retreated out of the dangerous life. But at least the BAU family will always stay family like that. Anyways, I’d heard nothing from you. What have you been up to?”

_“Did you hear that? They’ve all met up, everyone without you, and now even your godson replaces you without a second thought. Why do you think JJ calls you? Because she likes you? Even you can’t be that stupid! JJ’s heart is simply too big for the world. She’s pitying you, nothing more. She knows how pathetic you are.”_

It took him a while to answer.

“Oh, not much. Reading…” He was boring. No wonder why the others wanted nothing to do with him. “How’s Henry?”

“I think I might be spoiling him a little, but it’s just so great to be with him for an entire week-“ Henry called something in the background then, non-comprehensible through the phone, his voice approaching. “-sorry, Spence. Henry needs me, but I’ll call you later, yeah?”

“Sure,” he answered, ignoring the sinking feeling in his lower belly. Of course he wasn’t JJ’s first priority, it was obvious. She had a child, for crying out loud. The thing he really was sad about, being honest, was that Henry seemed to not even miss his godfather and previously claimed favourite FBI agent as long as he had the others. Naturally Morgan would make a better replacement for him, it was basically science.

“Bye Spence!” And then the call ended just like that, with a simple click from the other side of the line.

_“Can you see now how much she cares about you? You should just not show up to work on Monday and let them be, they’ll be a lot happier without you.”_

But the voice had gone one step to far there and said those words that were crossing the line, which was technically ironic because it came from his own mind after all. Spencer would have liked to say that it was statistically impossible, but he’d always known how it was to be afraid of your own mind. His persistent fear had simply become reality. It was no miracle for him to witness his mind make or bring up things that crushed him. Still, those words had triggered logical behavioural analyst and Doctor Spencer Reid in his head to come out of hiding.

He was a genius still; his mind worked too quickly, his thoughts jumping so much that normal people wouldn’t grasp the logic of it. So in those few seconds that he was back to something he’d already mostly forgotten, to sanity, he was able to get to three conclusions.

Firstly, he was malnourished. Severely.

Secondly, he had no close to no intention to change that, which made him a classic anorexic. But despite his above-ordinary intelligence allowing him to diagnose himself while most anorexics couldn’t, it wouldn’t allow him to change his distorted body image that he was able to diagnose himself with as well. That was kind of most of the problem, because someone telling him that he was too skinny would never be of any use. He knew that. He just didn’t _feel_ it.

Thirdly, he missed Morgan. _Derek_ , rather. A lot. Too much. The physical need to be hugged by him, to hide in the embrace of those strong, muscled arms and bury his nose in the crook of Derek’s neck, to inhale the scent that was so much Derek and promised so much security, increased the ache in his body incredibly. He just wanted to get lost in the older agent’s beautiful eyes and forget about this hell. He knew that it was naïve to think that Derek would be the person who might be able to pull him away from the dark side of his mind, but it didn’t matter anyways because the man would never try. Thinking about Derek _hurt._ And so logically thinking genius Spencer Reid collapsed and retreated to his place in hiding in the brain he’d owned not that long ago, and the voice in his head took over again.

_“That’s because you love him, you pathetic fuck. You’re in love with him and you won’t even admit it to yourself. You’re so weak. You can’t do anything but complain and sulk out of pity for yourself, instead of doing something. There are so many possibilities…”_

The craving was back. Just a little bit of Dilaudid in his system would hit the pause button on so many of his problems, would put them aside for a while… and then for a while longer with the next fix, until he became addicted again. He couldn’t let that happen. Why couldn’t he just call Morgan? A ‘movie’ was desperately needed.

Instead, he bit his lip until it started bleeding and waited the feeling out, holding himself up against the kitchen counter. The room around him got darker, and initially he thought that his vision was worsening yet again, and alarmingly rapid, but a look out of the window corrected that assumptions. There was a full-on thunderstorm going on outside. That kind of thunderstorm that made the streetlights light up in the middle of the afternoon because the clouds were almost black, that blue-ish scary kind of black (he was a scientist, not a painter!). Pure electricity was in the air outside. Spencer’s lips curved upwards slightly at the aggressive sky outside that mirrored the chaos in his emotional life just perfectly. Pure physics. Really, everything in life was physics, thinking about it. He’d always gotten through life like that. Solve the next equation, find the next formula, proceed. Life was easy as long as there were no feelings involved, but as opposed to other people with an IQ to his, Spencer unfortunately still had feelings. The world wasn’t what was complicated, humanity was.

Science, right? Science told him that if he didn’t want his team to notice anything and wanted them to let him go out into the field, he needed to eat at least a bit more than nothing. So he grabbed three sticks of celery out of his fridge and, with an awful lot of distaste, a protein bar out of the cupboard and sat down on the windowsill with three pillows (two under his butt and one for his back) to eat his food. Chewing took ages, but at least he was able to convince himself that he needed the nutrition. He was going to need some vitamin substitutes.

He couldn’t help doing sit-ups in the evening to compensate what he logically knew he didn’t need to compensate. The calories he had consumed today in comparison to the amount of energy his body needed daily just to keep up his vital functions gave a negative result.

He couldn’t help only eating because he’d gone for a run on Thursday, and then adding some push-ups on top of that exercise, only having enough energy to move because of the insane amount of caffeine from the black coffee he lived on.

He couldn’t help feeling dread as on Friday early in the morning, he got a call by Hotch.

_“Go on, pick up! Why are you hesitating? Isn’t that what you want, to flee back to your team so that you have an excuse for everything pathetic you do? I know that you just want to be protected by them. You’re weak. Stop hesitating and pick up. Haven’t you been eating for that? This is exactly what you fuelled up for. Now go do your fucking job.”_

“Spencer Reid speaking?” At least his voice was easily excused by the time. It was 7:23 in the morning, while they were on holiday. This case had to be a bad one.

“Reid, this is Hotch. I need you all at the bureau as soon as possible. I’m sorry about your vacation, but we have no choice.” The older agent didn’t sound pleased himself. Spencer bit back a groan and slowly sat up, attempting to keep the level of dizziness as low as possible. He fumbled for the switch of the lamp on his bedside table and finally managed to turn it on. He had to squeeze his eyes shut at the sudden bright light, but at least he was able to see.

“Understood,” he croaked out. “I’ll be there.”

“Bring your go-bag,” Hotch ordered. “We’re flying out to Lincoln. See you in the conference room.”

“Understood,” Spencer repeated. “I’ll be there as fast as possible.”

And yet another call ended without a good-bye, but this time Spencer didn’t care, because it was Hotch, and Hotch never used unnecessary set phrases, and also because he was now stressed and he needed his mind for other things than being pathetically sad about not getting a greeting like a kindergartener. Like for example picking out the right clothing that would not show his body. Or think about whether he needed to take food so that he could make sure they wouldn’t make him eat those sugary fatty donuts that always were at police stations for whatever reason. Scientifically proven they made brains work worse even after the short sugar rush, impairing memory and learning skills in the long run. Shouldn’t police officers be concerned about their health?

His shower took him far too long because every few seconds under the cold water, he had to lean against the fall to not stumble on the slippery wet floor, and choosing what clothes to wear had never been as difficult. Carefully avoiding the mirror in the bathroom as well as in his bedroom, he finally decided on two plain white t-shirts (there was a debate going on somewhere in his head, constantly annoying him like a beeping sound, about whether he was hiding fat or bones, and the absurdity of that total difference would have made him laugh if he wasn’t so exhausted) layered and a button-up shirt on top of them. He threw random clothing inside his bag, and then carefully put a few protein bars on top. They had to have vegetables somewhere in Lincoln, didn’t they?

_“You shouldn’t even be thinking about that, you sick bastard. There’s a serial killer in Lincoln that’s so dangerous that the local police call the team while you’re on vacation, and you only think about your food and your clothes. Pathetic! You’ll never be able to do your job properly, you giant fuckup, no matter how hard you try. You deserve how shitty your life is.”_

He downed a cup of unsweetened coffee practically in on go before leaving the house for the first time since arriving one hundred and fifty-three hours, twenty-seven minutes thirty-eight seconds ago. Taking the bus to the bureau took exactly twenty-one minutes and thirty-three seconds, which was a time far too long considering that Hotch had told him to hurry, but far too short for his mind to calm down a bit. There were almost only shouting school children on the bus to top it off, so when Spencer reached his stop and walked the two hundred and seventy-six metres to the FBI building, he already was on edge. It didn’t help that he was the last to get to the conference room. It didn’t help that there wasn’t anything to count anymore that his mind could hold on to. It didn’t help that he’d only got one single cup of coffee which wasn’t sufficient for his mind or body to function.

“Hey, Spence!” JJ greeted cheerily from the front of the room, standing next to Garcia. “I was going to call you today, but it looks like you’ll have to see Henry another time.”

_“Yeah, sure. It’s easy to say that she was going to call you. You’ll never be able to prove she lied.”_

“Morning, Reid,” Rossi greeted, while the others nodded. They all looked tired, safe for Hotch who apparently never needed sleep. Spencer made a point not to look at Derek, instead flashing half a smile at Garcia and then sitting down without holding eye contact to anyone. He didn’t trust his balance that much yet. The entire team had files already lying in front of them. Before Spencer even had the chance just to open his, JJ started to present the case. Her eyes burned angrily, and, looking at the imaged that was pulled up on the wall, he knew why.

The victims were children. Middle schoolers from what it looked like. They’d been brought into a kneeling position, and the scariest about them were their haunted look and the wide open eyes.

“Three boys have been found over the course of one month in front of three different schools in Lincoln, Nebraska. The youngest victim, Matthew Storm, was thirteen years old, the oldest, Simon Jackson, fifteen. They’re all white and from middle class families, no criminal record whatsoever. Every victim vanished three days before they were found dead. The latest victim, fourteen year old Timothy Allen, was found only this morning in front of the East Lincoln Middle School.”

JJ waited a moment to let everyone process the information. Spencer had only listened with one ear, busy staring at the pictures, horrified. The boys’ eyes, widen open in an empty gaze, were too prominent in a hollowed out face, just above cheekbones sharp like knives. The school uniforms they wore looked multiple sizes too big on them. “Help” was spelled out in sloppy red letters on their foreheads.

“They were stabbed with a knife. Each has three stab wounds right into the chest that were fatal. They were also severely malnourished. The real scary thing about them are the eyes, though. They’re help open with glue on the eyelids.”

“So he wants them to see,” Morgan threw in, chewing on his pencil. His eyebrows were furrowed. “Have they been raped?”

“The medical examination of this morning’s victim is not completely done yet, but the other two boys have definitely been raped multiple times. All of them have bruises around their wrists and calves from being constrained, and as you can see, the Unsub left us a message on their foreheads, written in their own blood.”

Morgan said nothing after that. Spencer couldn’t resist looking at him, taking in his reaction to the rape. Evidently he was remembering his own experiences in his childhood home in Chicago with Carl Buford. Every member of the team shot him a more or less discreet glance of concern. They all knew about his past since they’d had the case where Morgan had been arrested. Still, Morgan was a professional, and he acted as if it didn’t bother him, not meeting any of their eyes. Spencer himself wasn’t sure whether he’d be strong enough to put on that act as well. Those boys had clearly been starving for weeks, regarding their obvious state of malnourishment. The Unsub could’ve impossibly starved them like that in just the three days that he’d kept them. Those boys were anorexics. All of them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank you all!

Derek arrived at the bureau that Friday morning only minutes after he’d gotten the call. So what if he’d been awake already on vacation? It was no crime to get up early, he’d done that all the time when he’d still had Clooney. Nobody had to know that he’d barely managed to sleep, let alone felt like partying, because he couldn’t stop thinking about Spencer. No, about Reid. They were back at work now, and although first names were used when they fit in the situation… No, just no. Reid. He needed to keep this professional, he needed to stay professional. Speaking of professional.

“Chocolate Thunder, that was the cruellest of all punishments! You know that if I don’t flirt with you at least twice a day, I get all itchy. Don’t ever do this to me again.” Garcia was all over him the second that he entered the conference room. Well, not really all over him, but throwing a glare as deadly as possible (and a case file) at him, and fussing way too much for this early in the morning.

“Good morning to you, too, baby girl.” He grinned. “Morning, Hotch, JJ. What’s the matter?”

“Morning, Morgan. We’ll wait until everyone is here,” Hotch answered. He was flicking through the file with furrowed eyebrows. “I’m sorry that you had to come in so early, I really wanted the team to have the entire week off.”

Derek just shrugged it off and decided to get himself a coffee before the hard part of work started again. When he came back, Rossi had shown up and Prentiss was only just entering the room, quite obviously tired and clutching a cup of coffee like a lifeline.

“Why,” she moaned. “Why can’t those serial killers respect the few free days that we get?”

Derek chuckled.

“Been partying a bit too much, Prentiss?”

Prentiss simply shot him a death glare, falling down onto her chair, slumped over. She massaged her temples and downed the rest of her coffee in one go. JJ walked over to them, laughing fondly. The empty cup of coffee in Prentiss’ hands was quickly replaced by JJ’s filled own.

“Leave her alone, Morgan. I’m surprised that you aren’t hungover yourself.”

“Thanks, JJ,” Prentiss sighed, blowing the blonde agent a kiss. “I’ll love you forever.”

“Cute,” Garcia muttered to herself. Derek ignored them, because first of all, he was too tired to take shit from Prentiss right now, and second of all, why were all of his teammates this affectionate just when he was trying to suppress… Nope. Not thinking about that.

The kid sidled into the conference room last, and Derek almost threw his good resolutions away when he lay eyes on him, or rather when he saw the deep blue shadows under his eyes, his sunken face, and noticed how fidgety he was, how nervous. He knew those signs, had seen them, had fought against them with Reid, or at least he’d thought so. As an experienced profiler, he knew better than to jump to conclusions, but Reid definitely looked like he was using again, and it made Derek’s heart ache. What was happening to the boy genius? He’d gotten over it, hadn’t he? He had beat the addiction! The older agent had always assumed that he’d be the first person the kid would talk to as soon as something was wrong. That Spencer finally trusted him. But that trust seemed to be broken, and Derek’s heart threatened to break along with it. He shared a glance with Garcia, who looked about as concerned as he felt, and bit his lip. JJ and Hotch as well stopped in their tracks for a moment, but Reid didn’t even seem to notice, so everyone stayed silent. As much as they cared about each other, cases always had to go first.

And then, when his professional façade was already crumbling anyways, there was that case. Boys being raped, boys that were the exact same age he’d been when Buford had abused him. Boys that were kneeling on the ground, dead, having been stripped of all dignity. Buford’s laughing face flashed to the front of his memory and his forehead burned white-hot for a moment before he managed what he had practised for a while now: push his thoughts away. He didn’t look at his teammates although he could feel their stares burn on his skin. The awkward moment of silence lasted too long, making Derek hold his breath. He didn’t want Buford to still influence his life, for fuck’s sake! But naturally, everything had to come back to surface at once. Hotch finally broke the tension by clearing his throat.

“Wheels up in twenty, briefing will be continued on the jet. We don’t have any time to spare.”

The team jumped back into action immediately. They might be tired, and they might’ve been called in directly from their vacation, but lives in danger always had to be their first priority.

The flight to Lincoln wasn’t as long as some flights they were used to. Nobody would’ve attempted to sleep anyways. Derek left his habitual headphones to clear his head with music in his bag, and instead focused on the information they already had.

“Each victim has been held for three days, starved, raped, and then killed with a knife. This means our Unsub might be a sexual sadist,” Rossi stated. “He probably needs the thrill of seeing them totally powerless, that’s why he doesn’t feed them, and stabbing them three times indicates quite a lot of anger. It might be personal. Garcia, what do we have about the victims?”

“I can help you out, my dear friends.” Garcia, as usually, was on Skype with them while furiously searching for information in her own lair. “All three boys were members of their school’s football team and sure candidates for a possible later sport scholarship, even already in middle school. They’ve been mentioned in the school’s respective newspapers and on their homepages, but they’ve all gone to different schools and I can’t find any connection between them besides the football. They might’ve played against each other from time to time, but I don’t think there’s anything deeper than good old school rivalry on the pitch. I’ll dig further, of course! Besides, they were socially active as much as you can be when a teenager. No criminal record whatsoever for any of them, not even a warning in school, no documented fights. Just your average middle school jock.”

“It might be someone who got to know them through football.” Rossi caressed his beard, thinking. “A coach, maybe, or a talent scout.”

“Or someone who is jealous of their success,” Hotch added. “It’d be a younger Unsub then, maybe someone who didn’t get the scholarship he was hoping for. Garcia, please check football prodigies for me that have recently either vanished or maybe gotten in a situation that prevented them from getting a scholarship, like getting in a fight, a previous conviction…”

“Will do, boss-man. You can trust my magic hands.”

“Something doesn’t fit here.” Derek squinted at the pictures in the file on his lap. Something was not right, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint it. (He ignored the part that they’d all played football, just like he had. This case wasn’t connected to Buford in any way. Buford was _dead._ )

“You can’t starve someone like that in three days,” JJ observed, scanning the pictures in her lap. “You said they were sportive, Garcia. They’d be fit, then, and for sure have muscle, and even three days without food wouldn’t do them any damage besides being quite painful after a while. Still, they weren’t gone any longer, which means either he found a possibility to somehow make their bodies burn all of their fat and muscle away faster…”

“Or those boys were starving already before,” Emily finished her sentence, biting her lip nervously. “That would make them anorexics, and it would change everything. Is there any possibility to accelerate the starving process that much, Reid?”

Everyone turned to the youngest member of the team when he didn’t answer immediately. He was in his seat, fast asleep.

“He’s _never_ fallen asleep during briefing before.” JJ stared at the lanky figure, incredulous. “Should we wake him up? He looks awful.”

“Let him sleep,” Hotch decided. “Morgan, I want you to keep an eye on him.”

Rossi cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow at Hotch when it became evident that he was the only one on the plane who didn’t understand the sudden tension and the concerned loaded looks between the team members.

“What is going on with the genius? I can see that he looks like he hasn’t slept in a few weeks; but you all seem to know more.”

The background noise of Garcia typing away briskly on her keyboard stopped. The interior of the jet was silent. Hesitantly, Derek turned to Rossi. The man needed to know in case the matter was actual again, and he was part of the family. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t going give him a quick resume only.

“A while ago, Reid was kidnapped while working a case. The Unsub managed to hide with him, and while we were still looking for clues to know where they were and rescue him, he tortured Reid and drugged him with Dilaudid, which he was an addict of himself. When we found them… Reid was in the process of digging his own grave. He then managed to shoot the Unsub. A while after the case, we found out that he’d become addicted to Dilaudid against his will, and taken two bottles of it from the Unsub. We thought that he’d gotten over it, but…”

“But now you think that he’s using again,” Rossi finished, sighing. “The poor kid. It’s hard to hear that something this horrible had to happen to him of all people.” He observed Spencer’s thin figure, now fidgety in his sleep, moving around almost constantly. The team was silent. JJ’s eyes shone from tears, but she bit them back, chewing on her lip absent-mindedly. The case hadn’t only left scars on Reid’s soul. Derek felt like hitting himself with a baseball bat. How could he have missed those signs before? He needed to talk to Reid as soon as he woke up again.

“Let him sleep,” he decided. “I don’t think that there’s a scientific possibility to speed up the starving process that much, there’s practically nothing to those boys. They’re skeletons with skin. Baby girl, would you check for me whether their grades have dropped, or they’ve been told to take a break from the football team lately? If he chooses anorexics, he might have diagnosed them, a school counsellor or something, or maybe they all went to the same doctor.”

“Will do, chocolate thunder,” Garcia muttered, already typing frantically again. The well-known noise relaxed them visibly, breaking the silence. “You’re right as always. Timothy Allen’s grades have dropped dramatically a few weeks before his death, and although he wasn’t thrown out of the football team, he hasn’t played the last two games. It was in the school newspaper, front page article. They lost without their star player. The poor boy, it’s not even about him…” She sighed.

“So we know what’s going on.” Hotch scribbled down some notes in his case file. “The Unsub obviously seeks for someone who won’t be a challenge to overpower, neither physically nor psychologically. Maybe he’s had an injury, or he’s not very intelligent and aware of it. That would lead us back to the jealousy part. He could’ve recently had an injury, and now he isn’t able to play football anymore. Check that for me, and check the other boys’ recent grades as well, Garcia, and also look up please whether they’ve talked to the same counsellor or doctor who would know about their condition. JJ, as soon as we’re at the local police station, I want you to inform all middle schools to pay attention to whether anyone has lost a lot of weight recently or untypically withdrawn from any social activities. Don’t make them focus only on boys yet, if his rhythm accelerates, he might get less picky. Morgan, you and Reid will go to East Lincoln Middle School where Timothy Allen’s body was left. Make sure to talk to some of his friends, they should be easy enough to find. Prentiss and Rossi, you’ll go over to the morgue and check out the other boys’ corpses, maybe he leaves more signatures that the locals haven’t picked up on. I’ll check in on the other schools, Culler Middle School and Park Middle School.”

“Alarm bells should ring for teachers whenever they see signs of anorexia, not only when we tell them,” JJ complained under her breath, but she nodded nevertheless. “Those boys would probably have died from their eating disorder in at most three months, seeing as how quickly they fell ill and how thin they already were, and no one noticed?” The atmosphere on the jet was tense. The cases with children involved were always the worst of all cases.

“Garcia,” Emily asked, “has one of them ever been admitted to a hospital and when to the doctor’s for a minor issue like fainting, or maybe gotten medication for light iron deficiency?”

“You know how difficult to access medical records are… no. No, not one of them. The last times any of our victims have showed up at their doctors were merely for routine examinations, and they were all perfectly healthy back then.”

“It’s almost impossible to hide an eating disorder when it begins.” Emily frowned, closing the file on her lap. The team looked at her expectantly. “You haven’t developed the techniques yet. Most people go at it too quickly and faint regularly within the first few weeks. Only then they can make a habit of eating just enough to survive, and wearing the right clothes so that no one sees… It’s really unusual that nobody notices right from the start, but apart from not being able to play football anymore, there was nothing. The parents might not care much about them, which could also be the stress factor. And don’t look at me like that, I’ve had a friend in High School who was anorexic. Those are things you do research on when you watch a friend slowly killing themselves.”

“So they don’t get a lot of attention? That doesn’t fit with the type of victim we’d estimated before. Garcia, didn’t you say that Timothy Allen was in his school’s newspaper?”

“Right you are, boss-man. All of them were, and multiple times. Those jock-sports-stars always get the most attention, don’t they, chocolate thunder?”

“A lot of fake attention, yes. People are interested in them as long as they win games. What startles me is that they’ve never even been sent to a school nurse. Normally coaches are really concerned about their star players’ health.” Derek’s tone was bitter.

“We’ve got to find out why nobody noticed anything until they were half-dead and got kidnapped,” Hotch decided. “And Morgan, I don’t like bringing this up again while he’s still asleep, but you need to check on Reid and report to me whether he’s able to work this case. As much as I’d dislike sending him home….”

“Understood, Hotch,” Derek murmured. He suddenly felt the need to block everything out. It was getting too much. Dying football prodigies, three boys already that he would never be able to help anymore that were too much like him to not hit close to home. And then Reid, using again. How many people would he fail in his life? How many would he have to watch while they were dying, or death, or destroying themselves deliberately because he couldn’t make them see another way? Throwing another glance at Reid (had he always been this pale? The whiteness of his skin wasn’t normal anymore!), he took his headphones out of his bag. They’d land soon, anyways, and there was nothing else to discuss until the team had managed to gather further information. It wasn’t even noon. They had an entire day ahead of them, so Derek might as well relax a bit. He couldn’t help sneaking glances at the messy curls a few seats away from him though.

Reid still hadn’t awoken when the landing was finished and the plane was safely on the ground at the airport of Lincoln. Assuming that Derek, as the sleeping young agent’s best friend, would wake him up, the rest of the team simply took their stuff and left the plane, ready to head to where their unit chief had told them to go. Derek shook him gently at first, and unwillingly. He didn’t wake up; and also, had his shoulder always felt his easy to break? The older agent was positive that if he’d tried, he would be able to snap the bone in two without much effort. He shook him harder, and then Reid was awake immediately, jumping and flinching away from Derek in a single heartbeat. When he looked up, he was curled up against the window with as much distance between them as possible on a plane.

“Reid, Reid, hey, don’t freak out, it’s just me, Morgan. You need to wake up; we’re in Lincoln, and Hotch told me to go visit the latest crime scene and bring you along.”

Reid blinked repeatedly, and then blushed; despite the fact that red stood in an unnatural contrast to the paleness of his cheeks, Derek couldn’t help the thought that flashed through his mind. But no, Reid wasn’t cute. He wasn’t ugly, yes, and if he wasn’t as socially awkward as he was, he’d for sure have a girlfriend… and be the best boyfriend of all. The thought of Reid, his _co-worker_ , committed to a pretty girl that he could spoil, and have long, intelligent, philosophic conversations with, and take out to dinner, and share his holy books with, and do so many things that Derek wouldn’t ever be able to give to him, shouldn’t sting as much as it did. The young genius then scrambled up, taking his bag and quickly re-packing it with erratic, clumsy movements. He tripped on his hurried way out, and Derek had to catch him. His palm burned when he let go of Reid’s tiny wrist again.

“You should take better care of yourself, kid.” The nickname had slipped out as easily as it always had, but the meaning had changed.

“I’ve just woken up, Morgan.” He could’ve called him Derek. They were alone. But his voice was monotone, bored almost; he was halfway out of the jet already, striding forward, but obviously still dizzy from sleep. Derek shook his head where Spencer – no, where _Reid_ couldn’t see it. The kid looked too vulnerable to be wearing a weapon on his hip and carrying around an FBI badge in his jacket; he looked too vulnerable to do a job as dangerous. He looked too vulnerable to be standing upright for crying out loud.

Derek froze in his steps when realisation hit him hard.

What he felt for Spencer ( _Reid_ ) wasn’t simple attraction. He didn’t only want to kiss those pretty lips until both of them were gasping for air, didn’t only want to bury his hands in those sinful curls forever. He wanted to take care of the younger man, to be the one Spencer ( _oh fuck it_ ) came running to when anything was bothering him, to cuddle him all night and then make him breakfast in the morning.

“Morgan? Are you going to stand there forever?” Reid’s head peeked around the corner. His eyebrows were raised.

“Uhm, no, of course not, sorry,” Derek all but stuttered. He all but blushed while hurrying forward himself now, but it wasn’t as if it actually mattered. Spencer had already turned around again anyways. They got into the black SUV that was waiting for them, Derek driving and Spencer on the passenger’s side as always. Spencer, having normally memorized a map of the place they were at, would tell Derek where to go. This particular day, he made use of the GPS system that was stuck to the windshield.

“Lincoln East Middle School,” Derek informed the younger man in a business voice when he saw how he lingered for too long on the start screen, obviously not knowing where they were supposed to go. And that tapping of his feet again.

The robotic voice of a woman told Derek where to go instead of him. They didn’t talk. The air inside the car was suffocating, the tension making Derek hold his breath without even realizing it until he felt the sharp pain in his lungs, the scream for oxygen. The drive, luckily, was short. They pulled into the teachers’ parking lot, but when Spencer attempted to get out of the car, Derek locked the doors.

“This isn’t funny, Morgan, we’ve got a case to work. And if you plan on killing me, don’t do it in a public parking lot while there are children on lunch break everywhere around us.” Spencer grabbed the door handle tightly, his knuckles white. His jaw was tense.

“I don’t plan on killing you,” Derek answered calmly. He ignored Spencer’s sarcastic undertones, and the annoyance in his dark brown eyes. “Actually, I wanted to ask you a similar thing. Reid, are you planning on destroying yourself? Are you _using_ again? You know that you can tell me, kid. I would’ve helped you!”

“I’m not using!” Spencer almost screamed, high-pitched and too loud. Defensive.

“Kid. You’re talking to a profiler. You spend your days with profilers around you. D’you want to hear what makes us think that you’re using again?”

“Tell me, if you’re so sure.” Spencer crossed his arms in front of his chest. He’d never looked arrogant like this before, not in front of Derek, but the older agent was a profiler, and he saw the hurt look of betrayal underneath the façade of pride.

“You fidget all the time, you literally never stop moving, and you take too many bathroom breaks to need the toilet every time. Your reading has slowed down. The circles under your eyes look like they’ve come straight out of a horror movie. You’ve withdrawn from us again, you never go for lunch with us, you never go out for drinks in the evening with us, you don’t even talk to us at work. You fell asleep during briefing. You’ve stopped rambling!”

“Apparently you’ve taken up on that habit for me,” Spencer mumbled angrily under his breath. Derek ignored him again.

“The team’s latest case was difficult especially for you. Reid, no one blames you for your cravings, you didn’t choose this, and no one judges you if you really gave in to them. We just want to help you!”

Spencer said nothing. Only after a few minutes he repeated: “I’m not using. I’m fine.” Then, he reached over to the driver’s side and unlocked the car’s doors himself, getting out immediately.

Derek sighed. It hadn’t seemed as if Spencer had lied. But what was up with him if he really wasn’t using? It hurt him physically that he couldn’t do anything else to help the kid right then, but they were at work. There were lives to safe. He couldn’t led himself get unprofessional. (He might be slowly admitting his feelings for Spencer, but he still wasn’t ready for them. He was not _gay_. He _wasn’t_. What he felt was just the need to protect the younger man, and nothing else. And he had to push away even that. He had to. He couldn’t let more boys down.)

So he got out of the car and did his best to leave his feelings behind, locking them in somewhere at the back of his subconscious.

**_“We’ve all got light and dark inside of us. What matters is the part we choose to act on, that’s who we really are.” – Sirius Black_ **


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happy birthday to matthew gray gubler and thanks for existing. sorry for what i put you through in this fic

**“A great deal of intelligence can be invested in ignorance when the need for illusion is deep.”**

**– Saul Bellow**

“We just want to help you.” Morgan’s words echoed in Spencer’s head as he hurried to get out of the car. He didn’t even know what he had to look for, or who they were supposed to talk to because he’d been dumb enough to fall asleep on the jet, but what he knew was that he had to get away from Mr. Derek _overwhelming_ Morgan before the man saw the tears that were so stupidly rising to his eyes.

_“As if they just wanted to help you. That’s ridiculous. You’re wasting their time, and you might’ve risked lives by sleeping in during briefing. And because you can’t get your pathetic shit together, you don’t even know what’s going on now although you’ve had a car drive of nine minutes and fifty-seven seconds. That amount of time would have been totally sufficient to fucking let Morgan tell you everything you already know. You had to rely on a goddamned GPS system to find this stupid school!”_

The voice in his head was taking up characteristics of his own, telling him the exact time of something and starting to use more elaborate words. He heard it. He ignored it.

Derek (wait, wait no. _Morgan_ ) was quick to run after him. Of course he was, he was trained and fit and he knew where they were going. The concern had vanished from his eyes, but it wasn’t like Spencer looked at those for long, afraid to get lost in them and simply throw himself into De- into Morgan’s arms. And that was definitely not recommended, even when leaving all fraternization rules aside. But what Morgan could do, Spencer could do as well. He pulled on his professional mask, at that, he’d gotten enough practice. The monotone expression came to him easily, but it felt like so much more than that. It felt like a confining helmet of steel that he was unable to take off, or else he’d die.

_“And they’d be fucking better off with you dead, or at least out of their eyesight. You’re so selfish for continuing to live, taking up space on this planet. And you need to get some water soon, or else you’ll annoy everyone with your obnoxious growling stomach. You’ve read it all, worthless piece of shit. You know what to do so that you can die silently, and not disturb them. And now fucking get your shit together and listen to Morgan, or else they’ll throw you out of this case because you’re so incredibly useless.”_

“Reid, we’re meant to check out where the victim was placed, and then talk to some of his friends and teachers to find out more about his past. You got me? So we’ll go talk to the principal first. We don’t want to cause a scene while everyone is on lunchbreak. They don’t need to know that we’re FBI.” Morgan looked Spencer up and down quickly, neither making eye contact nor letting his glance linger anywhere.

_“He just doesn’t want to look at you,” the voice in his head jeered. Or was it multiple voices by now, not distinguishable, skipping back and forth so fast they were giving him a headache. “He thinks you’re disgusting, abhorrent, and he’s right. You’re ugly, and you’re fat, and no one will ever like you. No one.”_

“Well, you’d probably pass for a middle school student anyways,” Morgan teased. Luckily Spencer didn’t even get a chance to reply before a man – approximately in his late forties, white, beer belly but not fat, around six feet tall, almost bald but dark hair – came striding towards them across the schoolyard.

“Are you from the FBI?”

“Yes, Sir,” Morgan answered smoothly, pulling out his badge in one swift movement and showing it to the man. “Special agent Morgan and Dr. Reid.”

“My name is Walker, I’m the principal here. I’m so glad that they finally got the FBI to look at this case. You know, we had two conferences already between principals of all middle schools in the city, but we’re not the police. My students are under my care, and I can’t have anything happen to yet another of them…”

“We understand your concern, Sir.” Morgan just kept on being smooth. People liked him. That principal now smile at him, and of course trusted him at once. If Morgan were a psychopath, he’d be a damn good one.

_“And he has you fooled. But people don’t like you, and people like him like you the least. He could have anyone, literally anyone. But you pass for a middle schooler, did you hear him?”_

“Do you mind if we ask you some questions?” It was Morgan who talked again. “We’re establishing a profile of our Unsub at the moment, and every bit of information is useful. Unsub is what we call our suspects before we know more about them.”

“No, of course not, go ahead, agent Morgan.” The principal was nervous, Spencer noticed. His glance kept flickering to the school behind them. Either he was hiding something, or he was truly just concerned about the well-being of his students. The noise of laughing and shouting children filled the air, bitter-sweet on a day like this, and too loud in his ears, but that was too personal to be case-relevant.

“Thank you, Sir. You might be able to help us a lot. Who found the body of Timothy Allen, then? And when exactly was that?”

“It was me. I’m always the first person here at school on Fridays; I open the doors instead of the caretaker then. He only works from Mondays to Thursdays, an old man already, but the best I could find for this establishment. The kids respect him, there was a lot more dirt lying around before he came here. At first when I arrived I didn’t see anything, it was still quite dark outside, but when I looked out of the window in my office, that must have been around quarter past seven, I saw a boy kneeling on the ground. Only when I looked more closely I saw all the blood, and that was when I immediately called the police. I knew what had been done to him; we were informed, you know? But they didn’t have a lot of information either, just said that they were going to contact the FBI, and now you are here.”

He was also a person that talked a lot, which for sure came in handy as a principal and probably also teacher. Spencer guessed that he taught a subject like English, or Politics, or maybe even both, and made a mental note to get the caretaker checked by Garcia. The man now led them to the spot where the corpse had been positioned. There was police warning tape everywhere around it, already far from the actual spot, just to keep the kids away from the scene that didn’t give away a lot, though, nothing but a bit of dried blood on the ground. Timothy Allen hadn’t been killed in this spot, only placed there.

“Sir, may I ask why you didn’t call off school for today? The parents must surely be worried about their children.” Morgan frowned over to the curious little faces watching them from behind the barrier. Spencer uncomfortably shied away from them, but he had nothing to hide behind, so he ended up awkwardly shifting from one leg to another. School didn’t exactly belong to his best memories. He hadn’t said a word yet in the conversation.

“The school buses started to arrive just after the body had been taken away; naturally I informed the parents, but not one of the boys have yet been kidnapped directly from school, they always went home before, the police said. Some parents have decided to take their children home. Most let them stay, though. The families that send their kids to school here don’t have it easy. They work hard, and they can’t afford staying at home. I promised to take good care of their children. I didn’t know what to do, I was still too shocked. I thought it would be better for them if I didn’t provoke a mass panic, they’re only children! I-if that was a mistake, I’m terribly sorry, but everything I can see are those eyes that stare at me, those empty wide eyes…”

“Wait a moment,” Morgan interrupted with raised eyebrows. “You saw the boy’s eyes?”

Then, before he could elaborate, his phone rang loudly in his pocket. Mr. Walker nodded nonetheless, frowning in confusion at the unexpected question.

“Excuse me,” Morgan muttered, turning away as he accepted the call. ”Hey, Prentiss. What do you have? Yeah, we only just found out about the eyes, too. Every victim? Starved as well… we’d known that, didn’t we? Found anything else? Okay.”

While Morgan was talking, the principal looked over to Spencer expectantly. The young agent bit his lip, looking down, before he forced himself to face the older man in front of him, who was obviously just as nervous as he himself.

_“He has more reason to be nervous, anyways. Those children dying aren’t under your care. You’re just a worthless piece of shit. Those boys were liked by everyone, they were made to be in this world. They did not deserve what happened to them. You, though? You’d deserve their fate and so much more. Why are you even an agent? At least you used to have some brains before, but now in addition to not being fit, you’re also getting thick. Talk to that man! You’re supposed to be in control here, you fucking failure. You’re an agent, for heaven’s sake.”_

“T-the eyes can be a signature,” he stuttered. He wanted to prove that he wasn’t a failure – but even at that, he failed pathetically. “Everything that a killer does in addition to just the killing shows us a part of his psyche. F-for example the eyes. He puts glue on the victims’ eyelids and keeps those open like that. Some killers want their victims to look at them while they torture them, but we still need to find out if the glue was applied post-mortem, and that would change the profile yet again.” He realized then that actually he didn’t know anything else about how much information he was authorised to give, or how much they really knew for sure, because of the sleeping incident earlier. The metallic taste of blood took over in his mouth as that realization, the one that implied so much more, hit him. He wasn’t able to do his job anymore. His failing was not only personal anymore, it might cause the death of others. He needed to do better.

“You’re new at this, aren’t you? Dr. Reid, right? I already wondered earlier how you could be a doctor and an FBI agent, you look so young.” The principal’s look was sympathetic, and Spencer hated it.

“A-actually I hold PhDs in Chemistry, Engineering and Mathematics, and BAs in Psychology, Sociology and Philosophy. A-and I’ve been doing this job for about ten years now.” Spencer resumed shifting uncomfortably, while Mr. Walker raised his eyebrows slightly, but stayed quiet. Morgan was still on the phone, getting information from Emily.

_“He isn’t really interested in you. He was just being polite; he didn’t really want to hear you bragging about how intelligent you were before you fucked yourself up. You’re annoying him, just like you’re annoying everyone else. You’re a disgrace to your team.”_

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Walker. You did the right thing by keeping your students here, and we will do everything to catch the person who did this to Timothy and the other boys. Could we talk to some of his friends and teachers, please?” Of course Morgan grasped the tension between the two of them immediately, when he, upon ending the call with Emily, turned back to them and pursued the conversation as if it had never been interrupted.

“Of course. If you don’t mind, agents, I suggest you wait in my office so that we don’t draw any more attention to the FBI being here.”

“That sounds good.” They followed the principal to said office, then. It was a small room that the man kept well in order. There was a flowerpot on the windowsill, and a picture of the man with his family next to it. Apart from that, there were only files, notepads and other things obviously related to school.

_“At least you can still keep track of your surroundings when you focus,” the voice sneered then, and of course Spencer immediately wasn’t able to focus anymore. “That doesn’t change that you’re ugly, and fat, and useless. And what does it tell you, huh? Is he a suspect? Would he know something?”_

He didn’t notice that they’d been left alone until Derek, until _Morgan,_ started talking.

“So, you going to tell me what’s up now?” The older agent had his arms crossed over his chest, and was staring at him. Spencer couldn’t decipher what this look was all about, and that disturbed him more than it should have. Was it his dead glare, reserved for Unsubs that he wanted to get to confess, or was there that softness in his eyes that he reserved for victims?

“Nothing, _Morgan.”_ He’d emphasized the wrong word and had to physically restrain from biting his lip at the mistake. The other might have not heard the slip-up, but he’d certainly see.

“ _Kid_ ,” Morgan insisted. He was pacing, but coming nowhere near Spencer. “The team is worried about you. Hotch told me to check whether you’re able to work this case. _Are_ you able to work this case?”

“Search me if you want to.” The meaningful words came out gritted through his teeth, more aggressive than he’d intended them to be. They’d been talking about him behind his back. “Search me!”

“I don’t like this, Reid. But you’re making me do this, and I will search you. Roll up your sleeve.”

Spencer did, reluctantly. Did Derek really need to see all the fat and the disgustingly pale colour of his skin on his forearm? There was nothing on his arm, no track marks. He wasn’t using. That was the one thing he was still controlling in his life, for heaven’s sake! He heard Derek’s (no, wait. Morgan’s) relieved breath when he’d rolled the other sleeve up as well. No track marks there, either.

_“Oh, we’ve found a way to punish you that’s better than drugs, no? You’re not going to get like your mum in that way… But you’re already like her in so many other ways, aren’t you? There’s a voice in your head, after all. Doesn’t she hear voices as well? You have exactly the right age right now for your predestined psychotic break, remember. You’re doomed to end up mad. It is only a matter of time.”_

He tried fighting the voice, but it was just so hard, and he was getting so tired. His brain never shut off. For a moment, he faltered, and almost grabbed the leathern office chair to stay upright; then, he forced himself not to, instead pretending to turn intentionally and take a look at some football trophies on the wall. Morgan was watching him closely, and if he showed signs of weakness now, he’d be thrown out of this case, and thrown out of this job. He wouldn’t ever be able to cope with that loss, and he knew it. The only question was whether he’d be able to cope with what his life was like right now.

“Okay,” Morgan said, still pacing. It made Spencer nervous, creating an itch in his fingertips to just grab the older man’s arm and make him stop. “Okay. Reid, remember, whatever is up with you, you can talk to us.”

He neither got a chance to stop the obnoxious pacing nor to answer, which he was actually glad about. He wouldn’t have known what to say. Since when were words leaving him? He just pretended to study all the trophies on the wall, actually not taking in anything, until the principal came back with two boys on his coat tails. Their eyes were wide with confusion, and went wider when they spotted the two agents in full FBI uniform. A teacher swept into the room just before the door closed, glasses dangerously close to falling off his nose, bag hanging low on his right shoulder, threatening to slip. Compared to the two evidently popular boys, it was rather the man who looked like a student, but Spencer wasn’t to comment on his rather messy appearance. He made the same impression, after all, only even worse.

“Tyler, Aiden, these are Special Agent Derek Morgan and Dr. Spencer Reid. They’re FBI agents, and they’re here to ask you some questions. Agents, two of Timothy Allen’s team mates, and this is Mr. Scott, the boy’s English literature teacher.” The principal’s fatigue was showing, lines deepening on his forehead. Morgan nodded.

“Thank you, Sir. Hello, Mr. Scott. Alright, kids. You probably know who this is about?”

“Of course,” the taller, broader boy (Aiden) blurted out. Morgan probably already knew what position he was playing on the football team just by his looks. Spencer himself couldn’t tell that. He also didn’t have the social skills, nor the energy, to lead a conversation like Morgan did with ease. “Timothy’s dead, isn’t he? We heard rumours…”

“They say that someone murdered him, someone who murdered other boys already,” the smaller, yet fit, boy named Tyler muttered. “Is that why there are barriers everywhere in the schoolyard? Are we in danger?”

“So far we don’t think that you are in danger,” Morgan said smoothly. All that anger in his eyes was gone. “The man who did this has a specific type of target, and your friend Timothy was unfortunate to fit that type. Have you noticed him changing during the last few weeks? Was anything different about him?”

“He was quiet,” Tyler said. He was chewing on his lower lip, but looking Morgan straight into the eyes. “Like, unusually quiet. And he suddenly always had to be home early. We used to grab food altogether after training most of the time, but he said that his Mum wanted him to come home earlier.”

“And he fell behind when we ran laps during training,” Aiden added. “But we thought maybe he was just having stress at home, and we thought… We just…”

“You’re boys.” Morgan’s voice was still understanding. “I know you wouldn’t want to interrogate your friend about his feelings. Now, can you tell us when he started withdrawing from you? Maybe it started with not showing up to lunch. Did you notice something else? Was there anyone new in his life, maybe?”

“Wait, are you trying to say that the man who killed Timothy stalked him?”

“Did Timothy have a reason to become anorexic by himself, without external influence?” Morgan asked, and the room fell silent, dead silent. The tension was almost unbearable. Spencer was only a hair’s width from collapsing. Oxygen didn’t seem to reach his lungs. He shook the feeling off, quickly, and strode over to the window to open it.

“Anorexia is the third most common illness among adolescents,” he said as soon as he’d taken a deep breath. “Nearly one third of teenage boys use unhealthy weight behaviours like skipping meals, over-exercising, smoking cigarettes, fasting or taking laxatives. Most adolescents developing an eating disorder suffer from a low self-esteem. As at that age, the human brain is still easily formable, it is fairly easy to break down someone’s self-esteem.”

“What he wants to ask you,” Morgan cut in, “is whether Timothy has ever struggled with his weight or appearance before. Everything counts, even little things like self-depreciating jokes, or small comments that won’t make you suspicious at first.”

“No,” Aiden said immediately, blushing when all adults in the room raised their eyebrows. “It’s just, well, we’ve changed in the same locker room for years. He was never shy about his body. He would’ve been shy about it if he’d had issues, right?”

“He didn’t change with us lately,” Tyler realized, frowning. “He always goes-“

The boy broke off, trembling suddenly. He shook his head, furiously blinking away tears, and when he resumed talking, his voice broke with almost every word.

“I’m sorry. He always went to the toilet after training for the last few weeks and came back out already changed. I can’t believe we didn’t see anything…”

It was the teacher who intervened, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

“Tyler, if anyone should have done something, it is me.”

“What do you mean by that, Sir?” The finality, the resignation in that one sentence sparked the profilers’ interest.

“I noticed that something was up with him a few weeks ago already,” Mr. Scott confessed. “He was a bright student, and he always took interest in my classes. Although he liked to play the fool, the work he handed in was always brilliant for a student of his age. About seven weeks ago, he started joking around less and less. I was glad at first, but then his paperwork became worse as well. I noticed he looked tired, and drained… I thought I’d give him some time. I told him that he could talk to me, but he never did. I assumed he’d manage on his own. I thought it wasn’t my place to disrespect his privacy.”

“You did nothing wrong, Mr. Scott,” Morgan assured the worried man. “We believe that the man targeted his victims weeks before the actual killing, and broke down their self-esteem systematically. He probably also taught them what to do so that the people around them wouldn’t notice. Has Timothy started talking to someone recently?”

“He didn’t tell us about anyone,” Aiden muttered, and Tyler shook his head. They seemed sincere. Mr. Scott only shrugged helplessly.

Morgan’s phone rang just along with the bell to the next period. He turned away from them, speaking quietly (judging by his body language, Spencer guessed that Hotch was on the other end of the line), while the principal coaxed the two stricken boys into going to class. He casually registered Mr. Scott offering to accompany them, but he couldn’t listen properly. He was so hungry. The pain was like a rabid cat clawing at the insides of his stomach, making him want to double over and wince in agony. He kept a stoic face.

_“That’s right, that’s what you deserve. You deserve to suffer, you pathetic excuse of a man. How much have you contributed to this, huh? One statistic, and that didn’t even help. And why do you think only Morgan gets called? I can tell you why. It is because they don’t want to talk to you. Because they are sick of your voice, sick of you taking up space on his earth, you fatty.”_

He was only able to shake the voice’s snarl off when Morgan literally waved around with his hands in front of his face, even raising his voice.

“Kid. Kid. _Reid_.”

“S-sorry, sorry,” he stammered. Morgan laughed at that, but still only half-heartedly. They were alone in the office yet again. He wasn’t pacing anymore.

“You okay there? Totally spaced out on us. Hotch wants us back at the police station. Mr. Walker has already left to teach his class.”

“I’m okay,” Spencer answered. He took a deep breath to control the hunger pains, willing his stomach to stop tearing itself apart, and then forced the corners of his mouth to curl up slightly. “I’m sorry. I was thinking.”

Derek shook his head incredulously. A few months ago, Spencer would’ve interpreted his expression as fond, but now he laughed bitterly at that idea. How could he ever have been so naïve, so delusional?

**“No man is happy without a delusion of some kind. Delusions are as necessary to our happiness as realities." – Christian Nell Bovee**


	6. Chapter 6

**“The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him.” – Fyodor Dostoyevsky**

They were barely back at the police station when Reid vanished towards the kitchen corner with the crappy coffee machine hurriedly. Derek sighed, but he was held up by Hotch before he was able to follow the younger agent and check on him. At least it wasn’t the bathroom this time.

“Morgan, did you get the chance to talk to him?” Hotch was stressed out, even he (but still not blinking), and Derek couldn’t blame him. They had a difficult case, and an agent not able to properly do his job. Apart from that, naturally they worried about Spencer, _about Reid,_ on a personal base as well. He belonged to the BAU family. It was hard enough to always stay professional with strangers, and when it came to team members…

“Yes,” Derek sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. He quickly threw a glance in every direction, but the corridor was deserted. “Look, Hotch, he’s not using. I checked him. We could still check his things, but I’m sure he didn’t lie to me when he said that he wasn’t. He was so offended, I can’t help believing him.”

“But?” Hotch raised an eyebrow.

“He’s obviously not fine.” Derek was slowly getting beyond angry at himself. For Spencer, and _fuck_ having to mentally correct himself each time, meaning way too much for him, for still letting the younger suffer, for not being able to help, not being able to find out what was wrong. He hated feeling useless.

“So what would you advise me to do?”

“Don’t send him back home, but make him stay at the station. He’s not in the best condition physically, and I think it’d be favourable to not have him run after an Unsub. Don’t tell him that directly; he’ll know anyways, but rather tell him that you need him to work on something here. Find some files, or better, let him do the geographical profile.”

“If you say so.” Hotch nodded, his facial expression not giving away in the slightest how he felt. “I’ve got a job for you and Prentiss, then. JJ has already talked to the Allens and informed them about their son, you don’t have to do that part. Now I want you two to check out his room. Search everything, every lead you can get. Maybe you can find his phone or something like that. We absolutely need to know how and when he came to know the Unsub.”

“Understood, Hotch.” From the corner of his eye, Derek spotted Spencer walking into the room that they’d been provided with by the Lincoln police with a huge cup of coffee in his hands. He wanted to check on him again, even at the risk of Spencer snapping, but before the door could even fall shut with a soft click, Prentiss came out of that same room and headed towards them, her heals hammering on the ground.

“We don’t have a lot of time.” Hotch gave Derek a stern look, and Derek got the nonverbal message. Both of them knew that the job always had to come first, and children’s lives were in danger with every moment that passed by. There was no time for issues amongst members of the team. So he just answered the supervisory agent with a short nod and then followed Prentiss out of the building.

Despite all of that, he drove the car on auto-pilot, barely able to focus on driving. His mind stayed behind at the police station, along with Spencer. Hell, what _if_ he was giving up not caring too much? Over and over he agonized what could possibly be happening to the kid, but he couldn’t think of anything, and it frustrated him incredibly. Unconsciously he tapped a fast, agitated rhythm on the steering wheel, matching the racing thoughts in his head. After a while, Prentiss pulled him out of his thoughts by sighing loudly and grabbing his arm.

“Morgan, you’re getting on my nerves.”

“Huh?” Oh, intelligent response. And although it would’ve been acceptable to be lost in his thoughts considering the circumstances their job brought, he hadn’t even been thinking about the family whose house they were heading to, those devastated parents that had lost their son only a few hours ago. Prentiss stared at him with raised eyebrows. It was never good to arouse a profiler’s suspicion, and it was even worse if that profiler was also a close friend. Derek had first-hand experience on that matter.

“Look, I know this whole Reid-affair is upsetting you…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I was going to say that it upsets us all.” She raised her eyebrows further, and Derek mentally slapped himself yet again, all while keeping his eyes on the road ahead of them. He shouldn’t have snapped. Lying got so much harder when emotions were involved. He had almost forgotten about that. “Now I want to know what’s up, though.”

“Look,” he mimicked her, although he knew that he was sinking lower and lower with every word, every new attempt at denying evidence. His knuckles went white clenching the steering wheel. “Those people we’re going to face in a few minutes have lost their only son this morning, and I’m sure that right now, they’re blaming themselves. Everything they don’t need is federal agents turning over every stone in their lost kid’s room. Not everyone is as calm as you when it comes to victims.”

“Not everyone, but normally, Morgan, you are. Come on, we both know that this isn’t about the Allens!” Prentiss wasn’t impressed. Her piercing stare burned into the side of his head as if she was seeing right into his brain, but he resisted, refusing to turn to her and meet her knifelike eyes.

“No,” he admitted. “But it should be.” They drove in silence after that for the few minutes that were left, tension thick like water in the small inside space of the car. The front door of the Allen’s house was opened immediately when they pulled up at the side of the street in the noticeable black SUV. Mrs Allen expected the two agents on the porch. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying and her hands shaking. Her husband waited in the doorway, more reserved, but he was observing his wife protectively. He was almost Hotch-like in mastering the art not to blink.

“Mrs Allen,” Prentiss greeted. “Mr Allen. FBI. I’m special agent Emily Prentiss, and this is special agent Derek Morgan. We’re sorry about your son. I believe agent Jareau talked to you?” They flashed their IDs in a manner of routine. Derek was glad about Prentiss doing all the talking. He was way too tense to be diplomatic.

“Yes, she did,” Mrs Allen said, or rather sobbed.

“Why are you here?” Her man intervened, squinting especially at Morgan. “We told the police everything already, and then we had to repeat everything for the FBI. My wife needs some peace.”

“We’re sorry, sir, but as we have evidence that makes us believe that your son was the victim of the serial killer, we strongly believe that there are more lives in danger. It would be very helpful if we could take a look in your son’s room. A big part of our work is called victimology, where we find out a as much as possible about the victims to determine a certain type discover more about the Unsub.”

“Let them, Frank,” Mrs Allen said, wiping her tears away with shaking hands. “Anything we can do to help you, agents. Please, come in. Would you like some coffee?”

“No, thank you, Madam,” Derek said, clearing his throat. His voice threatened to betray him. “Where is Timothy’s room?”

“Just up those stairs, the first door to the right. We haven’t touched anything. I can’t-”

“Madam, you don’t have to go in there with us,” Prentiss said softly. “You can take a break.”

Derek left her to discuss with the Allens, climbing the stairs and entering Timothy’s room without hesitation. There wasn’t anything extraordinary in plain view; all he saw was a commensurately well-kept desk, white and blue walls, a bed on a wooden floor and a white carpet. There were football trophies on the shelf and some clothes lying around on a chair in the corner. Basically, someone had kept this room clean, but most probably it was just Timothy himself who wasn’t as messy as the average boy his age. There were some school things on the desk, the bed was sloppily made. He hadn’t found anything unusual yet when Prentiss followed up.

“I bet your room wasn’t half as tidy when you were his age,” was her first comment upon entering the room.

“I didn’t even have my own room back then,” Derek murmured absent-mindedly. He had put on sterile gloves and was looking through the boy’s clothes in his wardrobe. Finally, in a drawer which was mostly filled with a wild mix of socks, underwear and shirts, luckily clean, his fumbling fingers closed around a small cylindrical box. Triumphantly, he pulled it out.

“Prentiss,” he called over to his teammate. She was crouched down in front of the bed, not standing up immediately to answer, obviously looking for something specific herself.

“Wait.” Her voice was muffled. “I think I’ve found a laptop.”

“And I’ve found a box of laxatives, if I’m not mistaken.”

Prentiss coughed when she was back on her feet, but she was indeed holding a black, ordinary laptop. It wasn’t particularly covered in dust, so it must’ve been in use not long ago.

“Why is it hidden?” Derek asked. Prentiss shrugged, opening it already. “We need Garcia to check that. She should also have a look about the laxatives, but those losing weight-methods have become so common that I don’t think we’ll get any relevant information from that.”

“There’s a password, but it doesn’t look like Garcia will have any troubles getting in. He was a sports guy, not a computer nerd. No fancy defence mechanism whatsoever, just a plain password protection.

“I’ll call her,” Derek offered, pulling his phone out of his back pocket in one swift movement. “Hey there, Baby Girl, how’s it going over there in Quantico?”

_“Please tell me you have a lead, I’m sick of staring at those dead boys and scrolling through badly written school newspaper articles.”_

Derek chuckled lightly at her desperation.

“I’ve got good news for you.”

_“Oh, my saviour! You are and you’ll always be my favourite person.”_

“We’ve found Timothy Allen’s laptop. Can you get into it?” He furrowed his eyebrows, staring at the plain blue background on the screen and the more than annoying empty password box.

 _“Oh please, chocolate thunder. Did I hear a question? Give me a minute until I’m able to snoop through a dead kid’s laptop, yet again. I hate this.”_ She was typing already, fast like only Garcia could. Derek basically saw her fingers flying faster than light from thousands of kilometres away.

“An entire minute? You disappoint me, Mama. I thought you could do better,” he teased.

 _“Don’t you go all sassy on me! How’s our boy genius, by the way?”_ And there went the hint of lightness his chest had opened up to. Garcia was meant to be his safe haven and distract him at least momentarily from everything he had to worry about, not remind him of things.

“Fine,” Derek responded curtly. “Are you in yet?”

 _“Woah, stay calm over there,”_ Garcia answered, taken aback. Her suspicion bled into his ear, and suddenly he was very glad that Prentiss wasn’t listening as well. _“All work no play? But yes, I’m in. He doesn’t store much on there… I’ll see what sites he visits regularly, chatrooms, mails, the usual, and call you back. Garcia over.”_

Derek shook his head lightly. He did not have time for this. Prentiss was searching the rest of the room already, the laptop left open on the table, and he quickly joined her. Focus, Derek, he reminded himself. Focus. But there wasn’t anything to focus on. They found nothing else, except for a lot of empty water bottles and a yoga mat that had obviously been in use. It wasn’t that they hadn’t expected a similar outcome; but still, they had hoped for more leads. Their Unsub was thorough, he knew how to break down a boy’s self-esteem, and he knew how to lead that boy towards anorexia of all coping mechanisms. He managed to do all of that and simultaneously keep his identity and the boys’ eating disorders a secret. The only question now was how.

“I’ve just thought of something,” Prentiss stated suddenly, almost dropping the chemistry book she’d been holding. It wasn’t like the books had brought them any new information anyways. “The Unsub raped anorexics, but he didn’t torture them especially? That doesn’t fit our profile since we said that he was a sadist who wanted to have as much power as possible. He’s either weak, or he takes care of them while raping them, and I can explain neither.”

“Isn’t Rossi at the morgue right now?” Derek asked, slowly understanding what she was implying. “Call him, make him check for bruises especially.”

And so Prentiss did.

“Rossi?... Yeah, Morgan and I are at the Allens’ house. Listen, could you ask for bruising, especially at the spine and the shoulders, everywhere one would automatically get bruising just by another body on top of them. …nothing remotely new? Huh, that’s weird. Yeah, we’ll see.” She turned back to him when she’d ended the call, phone still in her hand. Her eyebrows were furrowed.

“He says that there’s old bruising, and the forensic doctor guesses that it’s because he did sit-ups and other exercises on the floor, aka on that yoga mat we found. The woman’s had a lot more dead anorexic kids than she would’ve liked, and recognizes the pattern. But no bruising occurred during the rape. I know it seems far-fetched, but if he puts cushion underneath them while he rapes them and also where he keeps them, he’s not as much as a sadist as we’d thought. Rossi also says that the glue on the eyelids was applied post-mortem, so again, they weren’t tortured. Remorse?”

Derek shrugged and started pacing. That was definitely becoming a bad habit. He couldn’t help thinking about Spencer every time the images of those dead boys came into his mind. They reminded him so much of the youngest agent on the team, young and fragile.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, shaking his head slowly. “Why does he keep their eyes open then if he doesn’t want them to see him? That makes no sense at all to me. I’ll call Garcia, maybe she knows more already.”

 _“Penelope Garcia’s office of wishes coming true, how can I help you today?”_ Garcia’s cheerful voice made Derek smile immediately. Luckily she never managed to hold grudges against him for long.

“Hey there, baby girl, it’s me again. Found something already? We’re a bit stuck here,” he admitted. Although Garcia’s voice soothed his anger and frustration a little, the emotions were still quite prominent. Garcia on the other side of the line chuckled darkly.

_“’Course I have, sweet cheeks, but you won’t be happy about it…”_

Derek cocked his head, frowning lightly. That was not the answer he’d been hoping for.

“Nothing useful?”

 _“Not yet,”_ Garcia sighed. _“But don’t ruin that pretty face of yours by worrying too much, I’ll get to it eventually. Until then, you might want to know that the boy’s been visiting some dubious sites, and I’m not talking about those that bring a lonely man some pleasure. Do you know those pro-ana websites?”_

“Enlighten me, but wait a moment, I’ll put you on speaker so that Prentiss can listen as well.” He held the phone out, activating the speakers, and then gave her the okay to continue.

_“So, my lovelies, those pro-ana websites are truly horrible. They promote anorexia, but they also provide anorexics with so-called ana-buddies, where two people have sort of a contest of who can starve themselves to death faster, and contain tips and tricks and everything. I want to go hug all of those people personally and eat ice cream with them, and tell them how wonderful they are, and…”_

“PG,” Emily interrupted. “I admire your big heart, but we need to stay focused. Do you have a profile on those websites that gives out information as personal as hometown or even school? If he found them on there, it would’ve been a miracle to pick those three, and you’ve already checked other states for similar cases, have you?”

 _“Right, right, sorry.”_ Garcia sighed again. _“The profiles don’t give out information like that and the website doesn’t ask for it either, so he’s got no way of knowing, even if he was an administrator of the site. They only have sick stuff on their profiles, BMI, lowest weight, and all that… But. That site was definitely constructed by an amateur, and he didn’t keep the information his clients provided him with very private. There’s something odd about Timothy’s history on the site.”_

“Waiting for it, Mama,” Derek prompted.

_“Normally, someone signs up for that site and actively searches for a buddy – oh, I hate that word in that context – which usually takes a few entries in forums and a few days. Timothy here had a buddy immediately.”_

“So he might have been invited to specifically join that page by the Unsub,” Emily concluded. “Can’t you tell who that other user was, PG?”

_“That bastard kept his identity well hidden, which is what frustrates me so much, sadly. But I’ll do my best to track him down! Best lead I have right now is a photo…”_

“Wait, so he isn’t using a stock photo?” Derek interrupted her again.

_“I know that it is weird, but I can’t find that photo anywhere else online. I’ll keep searching, though. Talk to you later, my lovelies!”_

“And what if he doesn’t choose anorexic victims because he wants power over them?” Prentiss asked slowly, her brain visibly rattling behind her eyes, processing the new information. “What if he chooses them because he is anorexic himself, and he teaches them everything about the disorder because he experienced it himself, and never recovered?”

Derek shook his head slowly as suddenly the puzzle pieces fit together.

“That’s it,” he muttered, slamming his fist on the table. “We need to inform the others about this. Let’s go back to the station, I think we have enough for a profile.”

They rushed out of the house, only quickly saying goodbye to the Allens, sparing them more emotional trouble. They’d still be confronted with the way their son died quite a lot after the press conference that the BAU was bound to give soon. In the car, Derek let Prentiss drive for a change. He needed to call Garcia again, see whether she’d been able to track down the Unsub’s IP address and find out about his identity.

“Have you done some magic for me, my beautiful fairy?”

 _“Morgan.”_ Garcia’s voice lacked all of the usual flirtatious cheeky undertone. Derek stared at his phone incredulously for a moment, taken aback by the sharp reluctance that bled through the small speaker, then hesitantly held the phone back up to his ear.

“Woah, baby girl, calm down. What’s got you so angry at me?” Garcia scoffed disbelievingly. Derek had never heard her be so upset at him.

_“Derek Morgan. Don’t tell me you don’t know what you’ve done! The brilliant goddess I am I’ve hacked the security cameras at Lincoln PD, but don’t you tell anyone or your ass will be in some serious trouble when you get back from Nebraska. Anyways, I’m neither dumb nor particularly oblivious – of course I noticed something was up with my babies over there. I had to see for myself, because you, sugar, have been avoiding me, just like everyone else. And first thing I see is the boy genius limping out of the bathroom with, if I’m not mistaken, quite red eyes. What the hell is going on with you? And don’t you roll your eyes now. I might not be able to see you wherever you are right now, but I know you.”_

“He’s crying? _Limping?_ ” Thank god he wasn’t driving right now. What the hell was even happening?

_“How could you not tell me that he was injured?”_

“He isn’t!” By now, Prentiss wasn’t even trying to hide her interest in the conversation anymore, raising her eyebrows until they almost vanished under her hairline.

_“Derek Morgan, you are one hell of a hot idiot. You freaking love that boy, and I know that it freaks you out and I wanted to treat you nicely, but I can’t keep touching a grown man with kid gloves. Spencer isn’t Carl Buford and you need to get over yourself immediately, as much as I love you.”_

“I-“ Derek began, but his brain didn’t supply any more words. Did he love Spencer? Fuck, Garcia was right. Fuck.

_“Nuh-uh. I don’t want to hear any protest. I know that I’m right, and I expect you to sort that mess out. Apart from that, we’ve got a case – did you hear that? I reminded you! I got us back to being professional! – and I have managed to track down that IP address.”_

“That’s great,” Derek said. His head was spinning. “Give us the address, baby girl, and make Hotch send a SWAT team.”

_“Sadly,” Garcia said, clearly not satisfied with herself, “it’s not as easy as that. Our Unsub has been using an internet café, and that’s about as anonymous as it can get. Now wait! We’d been wondering how he found those victims, right? There are school chatrooms that are more or less supervised for every single one of those schools. He’s been using the same internet cafés there, but I’m onto it!”_

“Isn’t there any video surveillance?” Derek asked, frowning. They couldn’t fail like that.

_“I’m on it, sugar. Until now, he’s been carefully avoiding them and wearing hoodies. I’m also reading the chat messages, and that stuff is not pretty.”_

“You’re doing a great job, baby girl,” Derek answered. “Continue, we need to find that bastard. We’re assuming then that he knows the place?”

_“Better than I know the magic world of Camelot. Garcia over.” Garcia was back in work mode, her voice far away, the rattling of her computer in the background._

“Okay, thanks.” Derek sighed, hanging up and throwing his phone away almost aggressively.

“What was that about?” Prentiss asked immediately.

“Our Unsub is hiding is identity too well for my liking.”

“And before that?” She dug yet deeper, and Derek automatically crossed his arms over his chest before cursing himself for doing so. “Why does Garcia know more than I do while she’s in Quantico, and is this about Reid?”

“Apparently, yes,” Derek muttered. “Could you drive faster, please? I want to visit the schools again, I’ve just had an idea.” He wasn’t lying. The thought that maybe the place where the Unsub had dumped the bodies was far more important than they’d originally thought had struck him when he’d found out that the man definitely knew Lincoln and the schools well. Mainly, though, he needed to get back to the station as quickly as possible to check on Spencer Reid.

Garcia was right. At this point, he had to push his pride aside, because even if his fear wouldn’t let him figure it out before, the younger meant a lot to him, and it was time to admit his feelings, first and foremost to himself.

**“Like a word on a page that you’ve printed and read a million times, that suddenly looks strange or wrong, foreign. And you feel scared for a second, like you’ve lost something, even if you’re not sure what it is”.  – Sarah Dessen**


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all the support!

If Spencer Reid wasn’t in the middle of a police station and too weak to lift his arms right now, he would’ve slapped himself. Scratch that. He’d much prefer to simply kill himself. His leg hurt, his stomach hurt, his head hurt. He felt fluttery, his heart beating too fast for it to be normal, but he couldn’t tell whether that was from exhaustion or from the insane amount of coffee that he’d drunk, and he didn’t want to think about it.

_“You can’t even do a five minute workout on a toilet without injuring yourself on. the. job. and letting everyone see how weak you are. If Hotch discovers that you are freaking limping now, he will totally send you home. You failed your team, and you failed those poor parents that lost their sons. You are pathetic, disgusting.” The voice kept screaming, it wouldn’t stop, it wouldn’t stop. “Shouldn’t you be concentrating on your geographical profile? Oh know, I forgot. That profile isn’t even relevant for the case, Hotch only made you do it to get rid of you for a while. Admit it, you’ve been staring at that map for far too long, you won’t be able to get any other information from it.”_

“Reid?” Someone was behind him all of a sudden, a warm hand lying on his shoulder, softly applying pressure. Spencer flinched and spun around, instinctively bringing as much distance between him and the man as possible with a solid desk in the back and sitting on an office chair, drawing his shoulders up to his ears. It was Derek. “Relax, kid, it’s just me.”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, trying not to meet Morgan’s questioning eyes. Every minute, every human interaction only made the situation worse and proved how much of a pathetic failure he really was. “You startled me.”

“Sorry,” Morgan said. Those addictive teddy eyes were watching him too closely. Observing. Spencer shuddered internally. “I’ll check out Lincoln East Middle School again, you coming with me? I want to look more closely into the part of the Unsub’s signature where he dumps them in front of their old schools and spells out help on their foreheads, something doesn’t fit right about that. We assumed that he doesn’t really want to murder and wants us to catch him, to help him, but he covers his tracks damn well for that.”

Derek kept it professional. Why couldn’t Spencer do that, too? He had to try.

“Why not?” He stood up as casually as possible, praying for Derek to already go ahead and not watch him walking. For once, his prayers were heard. Derek nodded curtly and turned back around. Spencer quickly grabbed his back, looked around nervously and followed. His leg hurt while walking, and the bruises on his tailbone and spine ached with every movement, but he had to ignore the pain. You mustn’t limp, he kept repeating to himself. You mustn’t limp.

Derek waited for him outside in the car. He was fiddling around with his phone, not even looking up when Spencer opened the door on the passenger’s side. Spencer had a nervous feeling that he was doing it on purpose. The air around them was thick, tension practically visible. Without a word, Derek waited until Spencer had put on his seatbelt, then stored his phone next to his seat and started driving. An entire minute (Spencer counted the seconds) passed until he said something.

“Talk to me, kid.” He didn’t turn to look at Spencer, keeping his eyes on the road, but his tone was softer than before. The younger agent fiddled with his hands.

“About what, Morgan?”

“About why Garcia calls me and tells me that you come out of the toilet at the police station crying and limping,” Derek stated frankly. Now, he looked at Spencer. Their eyes met only for a fraction of a second, but the short time was enough to send a tsunami of conflicted emotions through him, white-hot anger at himself, fear darker than the deepest parts of the ocean, vulnerability, love. Mostly fear in all its variations; anxiety, dread, horror, panic, terror, distress, fright; ranging from light to so severe that his insides cramped. He couldn’t hide anymore. What could he say? Derek knew too much already. Every exit was blocked.

“I fell,” he answered, obstinately staring out of the window. It hurt so much to play tough that he sometimes wondered why he even bothered, for about half a second, until he remembered that if he didn’t keep his mask covering his real, ugly face, they’d throw him out of the team immediately. Out of the team? Out of the FBI. He couldn’t let that happen. He’d eventually be good enough.

_“You just need to get a little skinnier. You just need to starve a bit more, and work out a bit more. You need to be more like Morgan, and then they’ll finally accept you. Now use your damned genius mind to get yourself out of this situation. You fell, and then what? Two words aren’t going to be enough to convince Derek, who is a trained and a proper profiler, better than you.”_

“You know me, I’m clumsy. I always manage to get injured, but don’t worry. I can still do my job just fine.”

“Reid,” Derek insisted. “ _Spencer_. There’s no need to prove yourself. I know that you’re brilliant at your job. We can’t afford losing you. But we also need you at one hundred percent, mentally and physically. We’re your family, you can trust us. Don’t hide anything from me, please.” The switch of pronouns from plural to singular indicated that Derek’s words were personal. But Derek knew just as much.

_“He’s trying to give you the impression that you can trust him. He wants to bribe you into talking to him, so that he can use your secrets against you afterwards. Notice how he emphasizes your first name?”_

“Morgan, I’m fine,” Reid said irritably. He felt like the words were cutting his cheeks from the inside, slicing his tongue open. “Really. It’s only a bruise.”

“Why do you feel the need to hide it then?”

“Why does Garcia secretly watch me if you trust me so much? Why do you feel the need to question me like an Unsub?”

Neither of them had raised their voices, but the tension was at the brim of unbearable. Too much emotion was hidden behind the words, too many feelings were left unspoken. Spencer felt like he might choke.

“Fine,” Morgan said finally. “I know we’re not profiling team members, but I can’t help it, Spencer. I care about you, alright? You told me you’re not using, and I believe you. You told me you’re not hurting, and I don’t believe you. You don’t sleep enough, which drives you to absolute exhaustion. You’re jittery, agitated, you can’t focus at your normal genius-standards and your reading speed has slowed down. You withdraw from us again, it’s worse than when you first came to the FBI. You aren’t honest with us, you’re hiding something. I can see as much without even trying, simply because you’re my friend and I notice when something is up with a person I care about. I can’t figure out, though, why you are hurting. As long as I can’t figure that out, I can’t help you, and you know that what frustrates me most in the entire world is not being able to help. Now, I can either keep on profiling you, and then I might find out some things that you’d rather keep private, or you can simply tell me so that I can help you without having to betray your trust first.”

They had stopped at a red light, and Derek missed it turning green, only coming back to reality when the driver behind them honked the horn, twice. Then, he cursed and quickly restarted the engine. Spencer was left speechless.

“I only ask you to think about that,” Derek said after driving until they were at a safe distance from the intersection. “And give me your answers as soon as we’ve wrapped up this case. Your honesty is all I want.”

They pulled up in front of the school, but Derek didn’t unlock the car doors just yet. Instead, he put his hand on Spencer’s arm. It took the younger surprisingly little will power not to flinch away again, even though the thought of Morgan touching him, feeling how disgusting his body was, made breathing the hardest thing he’d ever done. His warm, compassionate eyes held onto Spencer’s again, and there was so much hidden that Spencer couldn’t read, couldn’t figure out. Apparently locking others out also locked him out of their minds.

“Don’t overburden yourself, kid. You don’t have to save the world alone.”

Then, he unlocked the car and got out without another word. Spencer stayed inside, resting his head against the seat for a moment, breathing. His hands were shaking. The fluttery feeling just wouldn’t subside, instead getting worse. He wanted Derek’s words to be true, there was nothing else he could ever wish for. But wishes weren’t granted to pathetic failures. There was no way Derek believed in his own words. He wasn’t far away from falling right into the poisoned knife right now already, but getting his hopes up would be the last blast over the edge that he’d need.

_“Oh, so you’ve finally understood how much of a worthless brat, a piece of shit you are. You don’t deserve to be an agent, don’t let them trick you into believing what they say. They only want to prove how much of a failure you are so that they can finally throw you out and find someone who fits the team better.”_

Spencer got out of the car abruptly at those words in his head. This case might be his last, but he’d solve it, even if it’d cost his life. He owed that to the boys’ families. He needed to hold himself together, only for a few more hours. A few more hours. His head was spinning, his legs threatened to give in, but he’d put up with that if it was necessary to become perfect. He just wanted to be perfect. Was that a crime?

Derek was already back behind the yellow police line that marked the crossed-off zone, talking to some officer from the local PD, gesturing, when Spencer caught up with him.

“Do you even know how exactly he was positioned?” The annoyance was clear in his voice. Spencer’s very first instinct was to shy away. He had to remind himself that Derek’s anger wasn’t directed at him, and even then it was hard not to flinch. He was becoming such a child again. Derek was right with his nickname.

“I’m sorry, agent Morgan. I wasn’t here until they’d already carried the boy away!”

“This is information that needs to be communicated,” Derek pressed. “Can you at least get me the principal over here?”

“Sir.” The young cop was almost stuttering by now, clearly intimidated. Who wouldn’t be intimidated by someone like Morgan? He was the perfect alpha-male, the perfect FBI agent. “Sir, it’s already seven. There’s no one left here.”

Derek sighed, turning away without another word to call Garcia. Spencer meanwhile looked up to the sky. He hadn’t noticed that it was that late already. The sky was still bright blue, but the sun was starting to set. Involuntarily, he shivered, hiding his cold hands the pockets of his vest. His hands were always cold nowadays. When Derek turned back, he was visibly more relaxed.

“He’ll be here in twenty. You can go back to the station now, officer. The FBI will take over here.”

The local cop couldn’t get away fast enough. Spencer couldn’t bring himself to care. They waited in silence, Derek occasionally kicking stones, until the principal turned up again. He wasn’t wearing a suit anymore, but jeans now and a jacket, and he looked hurried

“I came as fast as possible,” he gasped when he’d reached them. “How can I help you, agents? Are my students in danger?”

That was what had the poor man so worried, Spencer realized. He cared about others so deeply that he didn’t even think of himself. His students were his very first concern. They had interrupted him, probably during dinner with his family, and he’d come without hesitation.

“No one is in danger as far as we know, sir,” Derek said, acting calm. The visible vein on his neck was still twitching, though. At that exact moment, his phone rang. “Excuse me.”

Spencer and the principal were left in an awkward position again, but this time, Spencer was determined to make conversation and prove that he wasn’t a newbie on the job.

“Sir, could you describe exactly how you found the body, again? We’re looking for some detail that might’ve not been on the photo.”

“Well, after I’d seen the boy kneeling outside, I looked out of the window. I thought he was staring at me, and there was all that blood on his forehead. So I went outside. Only then I discovered that it said ‘help’.” The man was suffering already from the memory, wringing his hands. Spencer raised his eyebrows.

“Excuse me, sir,” Spencer said. “Did you say he was staring at you?” He kneeled on the ground like the victims had, wincing at the pain in his joints, looking at the principal’s office, squinting his eyes. He could clearly see the window from where he was positioned. It all made sense.

“Reid,” Derek said, coming back. He looked distressed, barely even showing any reaction to the younger man’s position, and he was clutching his phone so hard that his knuckles were going white, again. “There’s a boy missing, Liam Mitchel. He’s a student at Park Middle School, fourteen years old. As far as we know just yet, same victimology.”

The principal gasped, lifting his hand up to his heart in shock. Spencer only closed his eyes for a moment as his vision went black, glad that he was on his knees already. This case was accelerating and slowly getting too fast for him to follow.

“Sir, we need to know-“

“The boy was staring at him,” Spencer interrupted the older agent although his head hammered, distracting him. They didn’t have enough time to ask the same questions twice. He had to make this case count. He had to prove himself. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the Unsub made Timothy stare at the window to the principal’s office. Is the position I’m in about correct now, Mr. Walker?”

“Yes,” the principal said. “Yes, that’s the exact postion.”

“So ‘help’ wasn’t meant for the police,” Derek concluded, pacing on the grey concrete. Realization hitting him like a bus was obvious in the way he picked up speed, stopped, and restarted pacing, his feet hammering on the ground. He didn’t stop staring at Spencer until it got unsettling, and he nervously stood back up again, careful not to rush. “It was meant for the schools, especially for the authority, not for the other students, otherwise he would’ve made sure that the students saw him as well. That establishes our theory that he’s suffering from anorexia himself. I would assume that nobody helped him, either, that he just wanted to show the world that nobody cares about anorexic boys. He identifies with his victims. He was probably raped, but never reported it, and he was a star football player at a school in Lincoln himself before he suddenly dropped out of everything. Garcia, you got that? I believe in you, you can find that bastard before it’s too late for Liam Mitchel. And call Hotch for me, please.” He hung up. Spencer’s stomach churned.

“Thank you, Mr. Walker,” Derek said. “You can go back home now. You’ve helped us a lot.”

“Are you sure, agent Morgan?” The principal’s face was white as a wall by now, almost grey in the dim light of the sundown that was rapidly vanishing.

“I’m sure. Our technical analyst in Quantico will soon have found the man who did this. If you need any psychological help for your students, don’t hesitate to talk to us. You will be informed by the Lincoln police as soon as we’ve solved the case. If you’ve got any more questions, here is my card.”

“Thank you, agent Morgan. I’ll- I’ll just go home then.”

They ran back to the SUV when the principal had turned away. Spencer’s head spun. His breathing hitched. Was it getting darker that fast or was he blacking out? Derek’s phone rang again as soon as they’d left the school’s parking lot.

“Hotch. Has Garcia… Understood. We’re heading there.” He hung up, then turned to Spencer briefly. “Get your bullet-proof vest on, kid. Garcia’s given us an address, and we’re closest.”

Spencer didn’t hesitate following his orders. In situations like these, they had to function like a clockwork.

“How far away are we?” He pressed out when his breathing was mostly under control again. He rapidly clenched and unclenched his fists, just to get the feeling back into them.

“Four minutes,” Morgan answered. “There’s a great chance that Liam Mitchel is still alive.”

In what condition, though, Reid wondered to himself, but he stayed silent while Morgan jumped red lights, the siren activated. He needed his breath.

_“Yeah, and in what condition are you? Think you’ll be able to run after that Unsub? You were barely able to run the few steps to the SUV, you pathetic fuck-up. You’ll screw up today, and then Derek will finally realize that all his efforts are worth nothing, that he shouldn’t even fake liking you anymore. Did you hear what he said earlier, that he cares about you? Do you really believe that? Look at yourself, and ask yourself that question again. Do you really believe that a man like worthy FBI agent Derek Morgan could care about a no one like you?”_

The voice needed to go. Derek had called Garcia, and she was briefing them on the Unsub, the words flowing out of her mouth like a raging torrent of information. Information had never before overwhelmed Spencer.

“The Unsub’s name is Mason Harper,” she said. “Twenty-five, white, from Lincoln, Nebraska. He’s never left the states before. Grew up in a normal family, middle-class, both parents had jobs, one older sister. His mother died when he was only thirteen, his father then started drinking and died when he was nineteen. His sister is three years older than him and now lives in… Oh, wait.” She paused, and sighed sadly.

“What is it, baby girl?”

“His sister died a year ago, at age twenty-seven. Cancer.”

“That must’ve been the stressor.” Every time all the puzzle pieces fit together, it suddenly seemed so simple, so clear, that they wondered why they hadn’t been able to find the Unsub sooner. That moment had come.

“I see why it would throw him off course,” Garcia commented. “It looks like he relied a lot on her. She studied Linguistics at Lincoln University. After graduation, she got a full-time job in a local library and apparently she was into writing. She even published some of her short stories in magazines that are not so bad, but she never pursued a serious career.”

“She didn’t want to leave her younger brother alone. She was probably the only person who ever cared about him,” Derek muttered. “Understandable that he went crazy when she was gone. I assume she’s never settled down, and that she supported him financially all the time?”

“Right you are. Mason Harper has been thrown out of multiple jobs, mostly at small supermarkets and gas stations, and if you look at his grocery list, then boy, I can definitely tell you that something is up with him. He spends more money on laxatives than he spends on actual food. While still in school, he was a star football player, until he dropped out abruptly, just like you said. The school newspaper and talent scouts soon stopped wondering about him. His grades also dropped dramatically, and he never went to college, never even tried to get into one although he was a quite bright guy at an early age. The typical anorexia story, starved his brain cells away, this is why I need ice cream, to protect my precious brain, because what would you do without me? I’ve found his cell phone, but the list is emptier than my heart when you aren’t with me, sweet cheeks. He calls someone approximately once in three months, and there is no regular pattern. That man tops in not having any friends, he makes even boy genius look like an absolute social butterfly.”

Spencer tried hard not to feel a deep black hole sucking him up at those words, and failed miserably. So that was what she really thought of him. Well, he’d known that she didn’t consider him a friend, but to hear it so bluntly…

“At least the kid’s got us,” Derek threw in, shooting Spencer a look he wasn’t able to read before quickly getting his focus back on the road ahead where the cars were parting for them. His words didn’t make things any better. The team was pitying him, only putting up with him because their hearts were too big and he was a lost cause already. “Anything else you’ve got? Any criminal record?”

“He doesn’t have the hint of a criminal record,” Garcia said. “Nothing. A blank page. Nada. No- oh, wait. He was called in for a hearing in the case of vandalism at a middle school in Lincoln once, but they couldn’t prove anything to him, and he denied everything. They didn’t have any evidence back then.”

“Let me guess,” Derek sighed. “The vandalism was directed against the school’s principal?”

“Exactly, chocolate thunder. I’ve given you everything I know. Take care of yourselves, I need your beautiful butts to get back to Quantico in one piece. Garcia over.”

Derek stopped the car with squealing brakes at the side of the road in front of a small, one-storey house.

“This is the address,” he said. “Ready to go inside? Do me a favour, and don’t do anything you don’t feel ready to do. Your own life goes first.”

“Yes,” Spencer said. No, he thought. Why did Derek bring out phrases like that now? Why did he suddenly not seem angry anymore, but understanding? What had happened? But he had no time to think about that now.

“Alright,” Derek said, quickly pulling his own bullet-proof vest on and drawing his weapon before he got out of the car, his brows furrowed in worry. “Got your vest and gun? Let’s go.”

Spencer followed him, ignoring the dizziness that crept up on him when he got up too quickly for his body to follow, and the glances that Derek kept directing at him. He didn’t look like a monster all of a sudden, did he? Not anymore than usually, at least. Why would Derek bother looking at him? Breathing shakily and blocking out the sharp pain that shot through his chest at the movement, he drew his weapon from its holster as well when they were at the front door, leaning against the frame from both sides, listening. Nothing. There was no light coming from the windows. After a second, the short time not even sufficient to take deep breath, Derek kicked the door in. They hurried inside, into the dark house, holding their flashlights and their guns in front of them. Spencer held his breath. The house was silent. Then, a squealing noise came from the back, and a soft crash. Derek urged forward, and Spencer followed. He pushed the door open without any hesitation. A back door was open, still swinging. On the floor, back pressed against the wall, they found Liam Mitchel. His eyes were wide in terror, his cheeks concave. He was shivering, hard.

“Fuck,” Derek cursed. “It’s okay, Liam, we’ve got you. Our team will be here soon. Spencer, stay here with him, I’ll follow Mason Harper.”

Spencer shook his head. JJ was better at handling victims, or Prentiss. They had to run after Mason Harper, he couldn’t have come far. Spencer was out of the back door, following Derek faster than he could overthink what he was doing. He was leaving the victim alone. But he couldn’t leave Morgan alone. _(Liar. You just want to be with him. You just don’t want to have to face the boy. You don’t want to be alone.)_ It was dark outside in the backyard, and ahead of them they only saw backyard after backyard, only separated by small hedges. He could be anywhere. Then, another crash reached their ears, and a low moan from not far away. Derek ran, and Spencer ran after him. Behind them, cars with sirens pulled up in front of the house. Their team would soon support them, along with the local cops. Liam Mitchel was safe. That bastard Harper had no way of escaping anymore.

Spencer’s lungs ached after the first few steps, the air piercing through them. His limbs threatened to give in underneath him, but he pushed further. Stars were dancing in front of his eyes, but he pushed on, jumping over the first small hedge. Derek was only metres ahead of him, shouting.

“FBI! Mason Harper, stop running!”

When his vision cleared up for a moment, he could see the suspect, running too slowly not to get caught, with too little of a plan to succeed. He heard hasty footsteps from behind, and Hotch shouting as well, but neither did he turn to look, nor did he concentrate to listen. Every step was required more effort than he was able to give. When he jumped over the next hedge, all of a sudden everything he could see where stars dancing in front of black, and he couldn’t feel his limps anymore until his entire body crashed onto the ground with a nasty thump that drew a desperate moan out of him before he was able to hold it in. The last thing he heard was Derek’s infuriated cry before he completely passed out, and a gun going off.

**“We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.” – Oscar Wilde**


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much! Currently on vacation with next to no Internet, but here is the next chapter anyways.

**“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” – Kahlil Gibran**

Derek knew from the moment his eyes fell on Spencer kneeling on the ground. He looked so terrifyingly small, barely different from those children on the crime scene photos, his bones protruding everywhere under the baggy clothes. Everything suddenly made sense. It was so obvious. How could they not have seen the signs? How could they not have noticed? The team had listed those signs of anorexia while Spencer was sleeping only inches next to them on the plane, they had wondered how one could possibly not notice a loved one starving to death, and yet, they’d failed to recognize Spencer’s problem for what it really was simply because they were jaded, because they’d let assumptions get the best of them. Derek felt the urge to laugh maniacally at himself, and then break down on the cold concrete crying; he wanted to wrap his arms around Spencer’s fragile figure, shield him from the cruel world and never ever let him go again; but none of that was possible in their current situation. Emotion bubbled up in his chest, frustration and fear tightening it so that he suddenly found it hard to force out words. His heart pumped loudly and his lungs were too small to provide him with enough oxygen, and there wasn’t enough space in his head to think about Spencer and Liam Mitchel at the same time.

He wouldn’t be able to tell later on how he had managed to stay professional. Spencer’s fidgeting suddenly made so much sense, him being in pain all the time; why he was tired, not properly able to concentrate, and why he moved so slowly and with so much consideration. With every second that passed, another piece of evidence came to his mind. But he couldn’t cause a scene now, not when they had to save a fourteen year old. Talking to Spencer had to wait, and it drove Derek mad.

If he just hadn’t asked the younger agent to come with him. Now, he couldn’t do anything but tell Spencer to put on his vest and be careful, and pray to a god that he didn’t believe him that Spencer would not faint while having to chase Mason Harper.

When the suspect ran, Derek told Spencer to stay with the victim and followed the man alone outside in the dark backyards. Within a fraction of a second while practically tumbling through the creaking backdoor out onto the lawn, he realized that he was surrounded by three anorexic, malnourished persons that couldn’t be any more different except for their illness, and smiled bitterly to himself before even the bitter smile turned into a grimace as he jumped over the first small hedge and spotted Mason Harper. The man’s attempt to run was rather pathetic, which made relief flood Derek as he wouldn’t have to run far. Sirens from behind announced the arrival of back-up.

“FBI! Mason Harper, stop running!” he shouted, keeping his gun held high. The man stopped dead in his tracks, and turned around, but in the blink of an eye, he’d drawn a gun himself and was ready to fire, and everything was happening too fast as suddenly Derek heard a loud thump and a low moan from behind his back, and knew it was Spencer without even looking. A furious cry escaped him, and then he had to throw himself at the ground because Mason Harper had used the moment that he’d been distracted to fire a shot at his head. He only just ditched the bullet, heard how it soared past his ear, missing him by pure chance and thanks to darkness, and then there was a second shot suddenly coming from behind. Derek stayed pressed to the ground until he was sure that the Harper had been hit, and he heard someone who was unmistakably Hotch shouting a command. The older agent urged forward, so Derek left it to him to take care of Harper. Instead, he rushed back to Spencer.

The young, fragile genius laid spread out on the ground, face pressed into the short, dry grass. Unconscious, but breathing. Derek took his pulse with shaking hands, and it was there, low, but there. Voices were everywhere around him, people were running around with flashlights, shouting words to each other that made no sense in Derek’s ears, incomprehensible like blurred pictures. The only sound he heard was his own heart hammering in his chest, trying to break out. The only thing he saw was Spencer in front of him. He pulled the tall, but gaunt man into his arms and lifted him effortlessly; he couldn’t weigh more than a child. Derek was able to carry him back to the house without any effort. JJ was at the front door with Liam Mitchel and the medics. When she gasped, he finally came out of his trance and reality hit him. It was his fault that it’d come this far. How could he not have noticed how unwell the person he loved most in the entire world, the person he knew best in the entire world apart from his family, actually was? Why hadn’t he insisted more? Why hadn’t he been able to prevent the extreme from happening?

“Oh god. What happened, Morgan? Has he been shot? Is he injured? Is it bad?” Her voice cracked. Derek simply shook his head. The words wouldn’t string themselves together to sentences in his mind, bouncing around uselessly. He didn’t realize how tightly he was holding on to Spencer until his knuckles started to hurt. Two paramedics rushed over then before he was able to find his voice, carrying a stretcher, and suddenly Spencer wasn’t in his arms anymore. JJ stared at him with wide eyes.

“Morgan?” She put a hand on his arm, gently stabilizing him as he threatened to stumble. “Do you need to sit down? You’re awfully pale.”

“JJ,” Derek stuttered, taking a deep breath and leaning into her grip. His knees felt like jelly all of a sudden. “It’s Reid, he’s- I think, no, actually I know- he’s anorexic.”

Her eyes widened more, and her fingers on his arm went slack along with her jaw.

“He’s-“ she started, but didn’t finish the sentence. “Oh, fuck.”

Derek laughed bitterly. His thoughts were slowly catching up again as the state of sheer panic passed. Instead, a strange calmness took over him as he looked at the mess that surrounded them, police cars and ambulances everywhere on the otherwise deserted street, cops and EMTs rushing around, lights flashing in the darkness. The scene didn’t look real to him anymore, and far away as the medics around Spencer whispered words he could not understand.

“Could you talk to Hotch and the others?” He asked. JJ was pale, but nodded. “I’ll go with him to the hospital.”

“Okay,” she said, squeezing his arm. “We’ll meet you there as soon as we’ve got this wrapped up. Take good care of our boy genius, and maybe call Garcia, she’s bound to worry by now.”

Derek nodded briefly, attempting a thankful smile which rather turned into a grimace of worry, and then hurried over to the ambulance car that the paramedics were currently heaving a still unconscious Spencer into on his stretcher. He flashed his badge to the medic out of habit and got into the car anxiously. Spencer’s face was as white as the sterile hospital sheet on the stretcher, apart from the deep dark rings under his eyes. He didn’t move as much as a finger, his eye didn’t twitch.

“He doesn’t take narcotic pain medication,” Derek blurted out. “You mustn’t give him any narcotics, do you understand?”

“Sir, please sit down,” the female EMT requested. “I won’t give him any narcotics if you say so, but he needs fluids and nutrition. Don’t worry, no narcotics.” Derek did as he was told, relieved, and closely watched her while she gave Spencer an IV with experienced movements. At least he’d been able to protect Spencer from having to endure the agony of withdrawal again. The ambulance took off, and somehow, the ruptured and fast driving movement in the evening traffic calmed Derek. This was something he was used to. He leaned back when he wasn’t able to stand the sight of Spencer anymore, closing his eyes briefly, but in the darkness behind his eyelids, the images only got worse.

“My name is Em,” the EMT said after a while of tense silence. “And you two are both FBI?”

It was a weak question. Both of them were wearing bullet proof vests that said FBI in big letters and carrying badges. Nevertheless Derek was thankful for the distraction. The girl had a nice voice, soft and calming. Apart from her obvious skill, her calm way to handle patients was probably one of the reasons she worked as an EMT.

“Behavioural analysis unit,” he answered, looking at her for the first time. She was pretty. Fit, tanned skin, long brown curls, an easy smile. But Derek found himself not interested in the slightest, and that settled it – damn it, he was in love with his ridiculously handsome, brilliant, amazing co-worker. “Special agents Derek Morgan and Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“You probably see the inside of an ambulance car almost as often as I do considering the danger of your job, Derek Morgan. I don’t want to be indiscreet, but the state of malnourishment that your friend makes me wonder – was he held hostage?”

“No,” Derek sighed. “Well, yes – but that’s been a while ago. The abductor killed and revived him, and made him dug out his own grave. We found him just in time. The man had a dissociative personality disorder, and when his personality changed, so did the way he treated Spencer, uhm, Dr. Reid. Ironically, the side of his personality that wanted to help Spencer harmed him the most by drugging him with Dilaudid. We never did anything about it back then, he found the way back out of the addiction he’d developed all alone. He’s been clean for almost a year.”

“Wow,” Em said. Her lip quivered slightly, but it felt so good to share the information with someone who wasn’t on the team that Derek didn’t care much.

“When we noticed that his behaviour was off, we thought he was using again. We wanted to give him some time, let him handle it on his one again. He’s so strong, but also proud, he’d never ask for help. You’d think he’d be wise enough to, having an IQ of 187.” He chuckled darkly. “We’re a team of trained profilers, and we didn’t realize how different his behaviour was. I failed him. I should have known that this time he was hurting himself in an entirely different way. Now I can look back and see it all clearly, you know? Everything makes so much sense now, but I was so blind, and I willingly kept my eyes shut just to protect myself from my feelings. We had a difficult case a few weeks back. I remember it now. I haven’t seen him eat since then. I haven’t even seen him pour sugar into his coffee. He used to drink his coffee so sweet, you know? I never understood how anyone would be able to enjoy that, but then, I never understood Spencer Reid. He’s always been out of my league.”

At this point, he wasn’t making any sense anymore. A hiccup escaped him, and a nervous laugh. Now, his hands were shaking and so damp that he repeatedly had to wipe them against his pants. Em smiled at him sympathetically.

“He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?” She cocked her head, and Derek couldn’t help a little, but still tense smile from curving up the corners of his lips ever so slightly. Finally admitting it was like the entire Rocky Mountains being lifted from his shoulders.

“We’ve been working together for years, the entire team is like a family, but Spencer – Spencer is special.”

“Young love is beautiful,” Em said, smiling. “He is weak, but stable – you don’t have to worry about him, at least about the physical part, but he will need strong support to get out of this mentally. Eating disorders aren’t easy to overcome.”

Her voice went up at the end of the sentence. Derek noticed how she fidgeted, and the way she was scratching her wrist made everything clear. He didn’t question her about it.

“We aren’t together or anything,” he said instead. “There are all sorts of fraternization rules in the bureau, and we both have a lot of issues-“

“Oh, please,” Em interrupted. “Do you think there aren’t any fraternization rules in a hospital? Well, my girlfriend and I don’t care. You shouldn’t either. There is no issue you can’t overcome, and you already love him – what else do you need? I guess it took you a while to realize already, and then to admit to yourself. I guess you didn’t even want to admit to yourself that you were gay, judging from your very alpha male behaviour. Finally, I guess you’re now blaming yourself because you let it come this far. You know what? Blaming yourself won’t make anything better. So get a grip and sort this out so that you can get back to your FBI duties and save lives together again, like you probably did today.”

“You’d make a good profiler.” Derek raised his eyebrows at her. The girl laughed for a moment, and then stared at him with those curious eyes again.

“Can I ask you q question, agent Morgan? Have you solved the case today?”

“Yes,” Derek muttered. “It wasn’t pretty.”

“Was it about those boys that have been found in front of schools? Have you found the bastard that killed them?”

“Yes,” he repeated. “And saved a boy. He should be in the other ambulance car. I don’t know where the rest of my team is at, I lost my mind when Spencer fainted.”

“That is understandable, agent Morgan,” Em said. She sat down on a pull-out seat on the other side of the stretcher with Spencer on it, who was breathing calmly by now. His heart was beating at a normal rhythm, maybe a bit too slow, his blood pressure was constant, maybe a bit too low. The numbers on the screen didn’t mean as much to Derek as the sharpness of his cheekbones did, and the way his wrist bone protruded.

“I should call our technical analyst.” Derek suddenly remembered about Garcia. He fished his phone out of his pocket, and needed three attempts to unlock it. His hands were still shaking. “How long until we’ll be at the hospital?”

“About three minutes,” Em said, checking her watch. “Go ahead and call.”

_“Derek Morgan, what the hell is going on over there in Nebraska? I’m so depraved of information, I feel like the Sahara desert of knowledge! Has anyone died?”_

Garcia was on the phone immediately. Her voice cracked.

“Baby girl,” Derek sighed. Her voice was a bit of familiarity, his anchor in the sea he threatened to get lost in. “We’re alright. Mason Harper has been taken down when he tried to shoot me… as far as I know. You did a great job.”

_“Are you hurt, Derek?” She pressed, not sounding relieved in the least. “Oh my god, are you in an ambulance right now? Are those ambulance sounds I hear? Sugar?”_

“I’m in an ambulance, but I’m not the one who’s hurt.” The bright lights, the constant beeping noise and repeating the same awful information over and over again were starting to give Derek a headache. He messaged his temples before continuing. “Spencer fainted while running after the Unsub. Penelope, he… He’s severely malnourished.” He heard her gasp, not much different from JJ’s earlier, and then sob.

_“Fuck- It’s- All that time- Why didn’t-” She sniffled._

“I’m so sorry.” Talking to Garcia, hearing her crying, the tears behind his eyes that hadn’t fallen before finally threatened to fall. He blinked them back.

_“Derek Morgan, I don’t need you blaming yourself now and S-Spencer doesn’t, either.” She suppressed a sob, sniffled again and blew her nose like a baby elephant. Under normal circumstances Derek would have chuckled, but right now, the corner of his mouth barely twitched. “He needs you to be strong for him and finally be honest with him, do you get me? Finally be honest with your boy.”_

“I promise I will. I’m ready now.”

_“That’s my man.”_

“Listen, baby girl, call the others and help them wrap up this damn case so that we can come home.”

_“Alright,” she sighed. “I want to know when he’s woken up. I need to talk to my sweet buttercup!” Then, she hung up._

The ambulance car came to a halt a second later, the doors were opened and the stretcher with Spencer on it was wheeled out by three paramedics with professional expressions. Derek drew a shaky breath.

“Bye, Em,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Tell him,” she answered simply. “It was nice to meet you, agent Morgan.”

Derek jumped out of the car. The sterile hospital atmosphere choked him, white lights and white walls and the pervasive smell of disinfectant, so he held his breath until he reached the room Spencer was being put into. They changed his clothes to the typical white hospital gowns, and cleaned his hands and face were it was covered in dirt. He didn’t even have to convince the doctor in charge to let him stay; his greyish face was enough. When offered a plastic chair, he gladly accepted, not trusting his legs to hold any longer. It had been a long time since he’d last slept.

Every second that passed felt more like an hour, every minute like a day.

JJ and Hotch came rushing in just after the doctors where gone, leaving a sleeping Spencer to wake up when his body was ready. They’d given Derek the look of pity that he didn’t need. He knew he’d fucked up with Spencer.

“How’s the boy? Liam?” Derek asked after a while of uncomfortable silence. What was one supposed to say next to a hospitalized friend when blaming oneself for that friend’s miserable condition? At least he wasn’t battling death; but then again, maybe he already was in his head. Mental injuries didn’t heal as easily as a gunshot, and the scars they left were not visible, but never went away.

“He’s in hospital, but he’ll be alright. I think he’s even awake. Prentiss and Rossi are talking to his parents,” JJ said. Her voice quivered. “He’ll get psychological treatment, and we’re suggesting that they put him into a mental institute for a while just to get some distance from everything that’s happened.”

“Mason Harper is in the hands of the local police,” Hotch added. “They have enough evidence to get him behind the bars for the rest of his life.”

“At least we did a good job on that,” Derek commented bitterly. He stared at the ceiling. It was his third attempt at counting the tiles. Spencer would have counted them within ten seconds, and probably found some kind of mathematical pattern as well as determined the exact size of every tile and provided Derek with information on the material. It was funny how many times Derek remembered that he’d told Spencer to shut up, and now he wanted nothing more than him to rattle of statistics and facts that nobody cared about, because it didn’t matter what words were falling from his plump, perfect lips in that sweet voice that managed to lull Derek in every time again.

Hotch sighed.

“Don’t blame yourself, Morgan. We all feel like we should’ve seen it, but previous experience led us to a different belief, and there’s nothing you can do about it now anymore.”

JJ let out a stifled gasp at that point. She shook her head frantically, and finally rushed out of the room. When she came back two minutes later, her face was a pale shade of green and her eyes were filled to the brim with tears.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, holding on to the back rest of the plastic chair she’d been sitting on previously. Her eyes darted around the room nervously, but they never once fell on Spencer’s bony, pale figure in the bed that looked too big for him. “I should call Henry. Let him know I’ll be home soon.”

“You should to that.” Hotch nodded. JJ gave him a grateful, jittery smile before she left the room with careful steps. “Morgan, I trust you to not leave Reid alone. I’ll accompany JJ, see whether Prentiss can take care of her.” They shared a knowing glance. Derek nodded briefly before continuing to stare at the ceiling. He didn’t watch his boss leave, and didn’t flinch when the door fell shut with a soft click. The only noise in the room were soft breaths mixed with notorious beeping in a steady rhythm. It was lulling him in, making it difficult to keep his eyes open as the edge of his vision started to blur.

Everything was clear in his mind now, every bit of attraction he felt for Spencer had finally surfaced at the dread of losing him forever, and now he couldn’t call it attraction anymore, because it was so much more. He wanted to spend every second of his life with Spencer, he wanted to kiss him, to hold him, to worship him.

The beeping changed. It stumbled so lightly that Derek would have missed it, hadn’t it been the only thing on his mind right now, and then accelerated. Derek’s eyes, having fallen shut half a second prior, shot open, and he got up so quickly that his head protested with a heavy hammering pain behind his sleeves. He forgot about that when his eyes met Spencer’s.

“Welcome back, pretty boy,” he whispered. “You scared me.”

The left corner of Spencer’s mouth twitched upward ever so slightly, but to Derek, the smile was more dazzling than the Florida sun on a day in August. His eyes, though. His eyes were empty, all emotion hidden away behind shutters made of steel.

“How are you feeling?” Derek asked. He stood next to the white hospital bed, unsure whether to sit down or continue awkwardly staring at Spencer from the weird angle of high up, but then again, the situation would be awkward no matter what. “There’s no need to lie to me.”

“Headache,” Spencer admitted, but blinds were shut behind his hazel eyes so that Derek could impossibly see through them. “Dizzy.”

“Spencer,” Derek said softly. He decided to sit down after all, on the side of the bed, and relief seeped through him when Spencer didn’t immediately send him away. “Kid. I’m so sorry. Do you understand me? I am so sorry. I’m so sorry I failed you. I should’ve been there for you, I should’ve pushed you more when I noticed you weren’t okay, I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions as quickly as I have. There’s no excuse for what I’ve done; there’s only explanations, and even those don’t make sense anymore when I replay the words in my head.”

Derek took a deep breath and made a pause. Was he asking too much of Spencer to early? Was he again being selfish by telling Spencer everything before he was able to change his mind yet again, or before Spencer would be able to run again?

“I’m so sorry, and I would do anything and everything to make up for my mistakes. Let me prove to you how much I really care about you.”

He couldn’t stand it anymore, he leaned down and wrapped his arms around Spencer. The angle was beyond awkward, and the younger was just so thin, so fragile, looking even worse in a hospital bed, but the touch warmed Derek up from the inside, making him feel complete. Being so close to Spencer made the weird itch that had been accompanying him for way too long finally go away. Neither of them pulled away for a long time, and when they eventually did because Derek’s neck was starting to go numb from the way he had to tilt it, a single tear had rolled down Spencer’s cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and those simple words made Derek cry.

“Don’t be sorry,” he answered, more rough than he’d intended, withholding a sob. “Don’t you be sorry, Spencer Reid.”

Spencer reached out for his hand with thin, shaking fingers, blueish in the light. Derek wrapped his hand around them and desperately tried to give them some warmth of his.

“I am sorry,” Derek repeated once again, at a loss for more to say.

“None of this is your fault,” Spencer croaked out, a tiny smile on his lips that didn’t reach his eyes, didn’t even make his dimples show. “I was stupid enough…”

“Stop. You stop right there.” The words hung in the air between them, harsher than Derek had intended them to, like flashing red neon lights. But he couldn’t stop to think about that now, not when Spencer’s hand was no longer in his, and the blinds in his eyes were still shut, still shutting Derek out. Spencer’s mouth was shut again as well, his thin lips barely visible and almost white. The younger agent himself didn’t seem to be there anymore, only just his body left in the hospital bed, pale skin and bones and hollow eyes. Derek took a deep breath of too thick air. It dried out his throat so much that he had to swallow twice before he could go on, loud in the silence, and even then, the jumbled words in his head hadn’t found their proper order yet.

“I mean- no, not me. You. Spencer.” He was talking to a corpse, a shell of a human being, but the beeping continued in its regular rhythm, still indicating Spencer’s steady heartbeat. Derek realized suddenly that his own heart’s rhythm had at some point become the same.

“How are you feeling, kid? What are you thinking?”

During a long moment, Derek feared that Spencer would ignore them, never break the heavy silence between them that no one-sided effort of his could ever fill. Compared to Spencer’s words, Derek’s had always been just meaningless letters strung together to make misshapen mountains, words that mirrored heavy grey rocks. Spencer’s were a melody, lively and light, each tune fitting perfectly with the harmony, loaded with meaning. While his lips were deserts, his palms were damp as the grass on a cool morning in spring. He didn’t move. He didn’t reach for Spencer’s hand again, but all he really wanted to do was to hold the younger one and never let go again. The hug from just moments ago was so far away in his head that it seemed more like a dream, an illusion that his imagination had foolishly come up with. Had it happened? Hell, he wasn’t even sure anymore whether he’d ever really known Spencer. The doubts stabbed him into the chest repeatedly. Forget shutters – next to the barrier in Spencer’s eyes, the Great Wall of China was smaller than a doorstep. And then, Spencer threw a rope ladder down to Derek as he opened his mouth and spoke.

“You don’t want to hear that. You have better use for your time.” His monotone voice transformed directly into an ache in Derek’s chest. He took a deep breath, focusing. He couldn’t screw this up. Not this conversation.

“I don’t think so,” he said softly. “I think I’d like to hear _that_. Otherwise I won’t be able to help you.” That wasn’t entirely true. Of course he’d recognized the issue. He just needed to find out how the younger’s ever-low self-esteem had gotten to the point where a magnifier was needed to find it, and how it had left so much empty space. “But maybe I can make talking easier for you. We have all the time in the world. I just want you to get better – no matter what I will have to do.”

Spencer closed his eyes. His eyelids were purple. His eyelashes brushed against his sharp cheekbones.

“I just don’t understand why you still put up with me.”

“I don’t put up with you, I care about you,” Derek said. He felt like he was repeating himself over and over, the words slowly losing their meaning, but they then made the blinds in Spencer’s eyes open, and what lay behind them was nothing and too much at the same time. Dilated pupils mirrored burnt-out planets with only ruins of the greatness they’d once held. Derek was determined to restore every square inch of the universe hidden away on the inside.

“I don’t understand,” Spencer muttered. He looked lost; he was fiddling with his hands now. The older agent just wanted to take those hands and calm him down, tell him that everything would be okay. “I don’t understand why you would care about me.” Now Derek knew what he really looked like – his look was that of a broken person that had given up their shield around themselves, any self-preserving sense.

“Spencer…” Derek was at a loss for words.

“Who did this to you? Who made you feel this unworthy?”

“Do you remember that Unsub that shot himself?” Spencer asked. “The one from a few weeks ago.” He didn’t give any further information that Derek was sure he knew, probably too tired to recall the exact numbers. Derek could basically watch the battle going on in his head. The memory of the Unsub was already foggy – it had been a bad case, with a worse outcome, and he didn’t make a habit of remembering those in detail.

“I suppose you don’t remember it well. But I do, because when the Unsub shot himself, I was the only agent currently in the room. It was my job to talk him down, to keep him from doing exactly that. I failed, which he made sure to tell me.”

Derek wasn’t able to resist anymore. He took Spencer’s cold hands, and Spencer didn’t stop him this time, didn’t pull away. He simply closed his eyes before more hesitant words rolled of his tongue as shattered glass.

“At first, I couldn’t get his words out of my head. I thought it would pass. I had to hear them all day, all night: _Why are you even an agent? You worthless piece of shit. You aren’t more than a fucking child, you weakling! You think you’re so intelligent, but you don’t even notice that they don’t care about you. You’d sacrifice yourself for them, but do you really believe that they’d do the same? How naïve you are. Look at them; they’re strong, and perfect, they scream FBI agent from afar. But you? You’re ugly, you don’t even have any muscle, you don’t fit in with them. Don’t you realize that you’re a baby compared to them? Idiot. You deserve not being loved back by those you call family. Worthless brat.”_

While Spencer showed no emotion, Derek hissed in pain and anger. Hadn’t the man already done the job himself, he could’ve killed him, strangled him with his bare hands.

“Kid,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. But there’s one thing I can tell you: You, Dr Spencer Reid, are the best amongst us all.” I love you, he thought. He didn’t say it.

“I’m not, Derek,” Spencer said. He looked at Derek with feverish eyes. It was the first time he’d acknowledged him by name since the beginning of the conversation. “I’m a mess with a paranoid schizophrenic tendency. I can do nothing but spill useless facts and annoy everyone with my rants. I’m fat, and ugly. I’m boring and useless. But you’re perfect. I don’t see why you would ever be around me by choice, any of you. It was all logic when you started to withdraw from me.”

“Oh, pretty boy,” Derek breathed. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to withdraw from you.” But he had. Guilt overtook him. The Unsub had maybe been the final push over the edge, but if Derek had been there, he could’ve caught Spencer before he fell.

“I was afraid of myself,” he blurted out. Was he making sense? Probably not. The words just needed to leave, to stream out of his mind like a rapid river, and if anyone understood him, it would be his best friend. Could he still call him that? Were they still best friends? “I didn’t understand what I felt, I didn’t want to admit to myself what was happening to me – fuck, I’m so sorry.” He watched a puzzled expression unfold on Spencer's face, his eyebrows arching upward ever so slightly, his face too tired for vivid emotion.

“I’m in love with you, Spencer Reid,” he said, expecting everything to crash around them in the small hospital room. Nothing happened.

Silence.

“I don’t believe you,” Spencer said. “Please don’t do this to me. Derek I love you. We both know that that’s the real reason you’ve withdrawn from me, because you’re disgusted by me, because you don’t like me that way. Please don’t pretend to like me until you know that you haven’t caused my death, and then leave me again with good conscience.”

Derek shook his head almost violently, kept shaking it for too long, couldn’t stop. Tears in his eyes blurred his vision. Spencer loved him. The man knew him better than anyone else, and still loved him. His heart fluttered. The feeling made him freeze for a moment, so unknown and massive compared to the silly attraction he felt to women in the club, random people he met. He’d thought he knew what love was. Damn it, he was so far gone.

“I’m in love with you,” he repeated. “You are the most beautiful person I know, pretty boy. I love listening to you rant, even when I tell you to shut up, even when I’m hungover and every other whisper makes me cringe. I love how awkward you get and how it makes you special from everyone else. Fuck, I just want to hold you all day. You make me feel complete. I want to bring you your ridiculously sweet coffee each day. I love you so damn much, every bit of you.”

“You’re behaving like a high school bully,” Spencer said, but a small smile had formed on his lips, curling up his lips weakly. Derek grinned hesitantly.

“I’m just no good at this,” he agreed, holding up his free hand in defeat. “But for you, I want to try. All I ask from you is: Will you forgive me? Will you give me a chance?”

**“Love is about letting go the fears that stand in front of our hearts.” – Marianne Williamson**


	9. Chapter 9

**“Don’t forget that I cannot see myself, that my role is limited to being the one who looks in the mirror.” – Jacques Rigaut**

Spencer knew he had majorly fucked up when he woke up to the familiar beeping sound of a hospital, in an unfamiliar, uncomfortable bed. At first, everything he saw were the colour white, and too bright lights that hurt his eyes. Then Derek’s worried came into his sight, and although he still knew he’d fucked up, he knew Derek would now despise him, see how pathetic he really was, he couldn’t help the small smile that spread on his face. But smiling hurt.

That was when he noticed the itching IV in his arm. It needed to get out. It was making him fat. They were pumping him full with useless calories, against his will. Control was slipping away from him, they’d taken it as he was at his weakest. Everything was slipping, as if the whole world had become covered in ice, and he was unable to hold on to it with his clammy fingers. His head spun.

When Derek then apologized, apologized without a reason because what had happened had been bound to happen anyways, Spencer almost broke. He let Derek hug him, although every cell in his body screamed in protest. _“He’s feeling all the disgusting fat on your body. He doesn’t want to touch you. He pities you.”_ Why would he be here then, a little voice in his head asked, barely audible. And Derek just kept apologizing, kept kicking at the wall that Spencer had built, and his kicks were well-placed. He had a black belt in judo, after all. Apparently he was also good at acting. Conflicting thoughts and tsunami-like emotions tore Spencer apart from inside out. As he watched his body parts float away, he didn’t care. What did it matter? What did anything matter now that everything had been destroyed anyways because of his stupidity?

So he answered Derek’s questions. Usually, his brain had control over what came out of his mouth, but then again, his actual brain didn’t have much control about anything at the moment. Answering questions was easy. He told his story as if it belonged to a different person. As if his soul hadn’t been torn apart by those words that he quoted without blinking. He’d heard them so often already. Why try to run away from the truth? Resignation had taken over him a long time ago.

“I’m in love with you, Spencer Reid,” he heard through the cotton wool in his ears. No, was his first thought. No, this couldn’t be true. Derek was preparing for his final blow to finally destroy him completely. This was part of the plan. But he wouldn’t fall for it. In the bone-crushing silence, his constant internal companion screamed louder than ever.

_“You know why he says that, you worthless piece of shit. Just like the jocks back in high schools. He’s found out how you feel about him. They’re laughing behind your back, laughing about your stupid little child’s crush. He doesn’t really love you – who could ever love you? You’re worthless, pathetic, unlovable. This is Derek Morgan. He knows how to make anyone believe that he loves them.”_

“I don’t believe you,” Spencer protested weakly. He couldn’t do this. He just couldn’t do this. Derek had always been a person he could trust and rely on, even when they didn’t speak anymore, even when silence between them was suffocating, not comfortable. He would trust the older with his life. Damn it, he’d give his life for the other. What was it worth? “Please don’t do this to me. Derek, I love you.” He breathed in shakily, releasing the air in dry sobs. This was the first time he’d said it. Reality was sharp as a million pieces of shattered glass in his wounded heart. Nevertheless, he pressed on. “We both know that that’s the real reason you’ve withdrawn from me, because you’re disgusted by me, because you don’t like me that way. Please don’t pretend to like me until you know that you haven’t caused my death, and then leave me again with good conscience. I know why you’re doing this.”

He closed his eyes, concentrating for a moment on the IV in his arm and how to possibly get it out as fast as possible without raising any suspicion. It itched, and the pure thought of liquid calories rushing into his body, straight into his blood, make him feel sick. It was something he could easily focus on, something he could get control over again. Derek wasn’t easy to think about. Sadly, he also wasn’t easy to forget. Every sentence he added broke Spencer’s walls further down, crushing them as if they were made of paper or sand, and he was a hurricane. A disturbingly genuine hurricane. The speech was so Derek, laced with swearwords and half-sentences, and it was just so convincing.

Spencer’s smile wasn’t intentional, but as he saw Derek’s breathtaking grin, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

“Will you forgive me? Will you give me a chance?”

Spencer took in a sharp breath. Then, suddenly, it hit him what endless amount of possibilities Derek was opening up for him with this simple question. And maybe, a tiny voice whispered feebly from a corner of his mind, maybe he actually meant it. So despite the voice that screamed and screamed in his head, he made the decision to be honest with Derek. A hundred percent honest with Derek, and also with himself.

“There’s nothing I want more, Derek,” he said. That thing he did where he opened his mouth and words came out? Sometimes he wished he could just stop that. “ _Stupid! You’re making yourself vulnerable! You don’t deserve someone as perfect as him. Just get a little skinnier. He might really like you then, but if you were really honest with yourself, you’d know that he’ll never. He’ll leave you as soon as possible, as soon as they’ve thrown you out of the team without causing a hype. You have to take up less space. This world doesn’t need you.”_

“But I don’t think I deserve you, and I doubt I ever will. I’m broken. I’m ugly, and fat. I’m not up to your standards. You could get anyone, and you deserve someone better than me. You really do. I can’t forgive you because there’s nothing I could forgive you for, but I don’t blame you for anything.”

He breathed in, and out. Derek was silent, waiting for him to finish. Spencer didn’t dare to look into his eyes, too scared of what he’d find.

“I- I don’t believe you’re really here to stay.” He looked down at his fingers, all dry and roughed up with little red spots from where the skin hadn’t been able to contain his fat anymore. “If you are, you’ll have to tell me again, and again, until you get so tired of me that it is no longer true. My condition, both mentally and physically, is far from good right now. Everything is even worse than when I took the Dilaudid, so much worse.” He bit his lip. Was that what he knew or just what he wanted to believe? The only thing certain was that he didn’t even believe his own words anymore at this point. “I don’t blame you if you back out now.”

_“You don’t blame him, but it would destroy you, and you both know it. Soon, he’ll send you away. They’ll say that they’re making you take time off for recovery, while they’re already sure you’ll never come back, and happy about it. They’ll send you into therapy, so that they don’t have to see them anymore, and so that they don’t have to talk to you anymore. Just wait for it, and trust me. I’m the only one you can trust. If you want everything to be alright, and people to like you again, you mustn’t eat. Understood?”_

“But if you want to put up with that,” Spencer continued, silencing the voice in his head abruptly, “of course I’ll give you a chance.”

Immediately after he’d mumbled that last sentence, before he could even look up, Derek leaned forward and hugged him, gently as if his bones were made out of glass. He was so warm, so familiar. His smell soothed Spencer as much as his heat did, and his low humming, simply his presence made the voice in his head shut up for the very first time in so many weeks. The peace didn’t last for long, he wasn’t just able stay alone in his head, still far from sane, but in those seconds that felt like an eternity, he was able to see a flickering light at the end of the tunnel. It gave him hope that he clung onto as desperately as to Derek’s body, because maybe there was a way out. Maybe he needed to acknowledge that this wasn’t actually him, that none of this was logic, that his bones were sticking out in places where they shouldn’t and his skin broke because he lacked nutrients, not because it couldn’t contain the fat. The hug lasted for an eternity and a half, their breathing in sync, peace and understanding surrounding them

“Spence!” JJ’s voice came from the doorway, and the two men broke apart, pulled out of a trance ruggedly. Derek didn’t back away, though, he sat back down on the edge of the bed, and Spencer was so glad about that that his heart fluttered. Luckily, everyone at least pretended not to notice the short change of the beeping noises’ rhythm. He knew that backing away would’ve translated to Derek being ashamed of getting seen with him automatically in his twisted mind. “You woke up! Can I…” She hesitated. “Can I hug you?”

_“She doesn’t really to want to hug you, don’t you realize that? She feels pressured because she’s seen Derek hugging-“_

“Of course,” Spencer pressed out through his teeth, grinding them together, any noise to make the voice shut up. He was craving Derek’s touch already, but they couldn’t even hold hands in front of JJ. There were still all those rules and regulations and besides, what were they at this point? The pure thought almost drowned him in a wave of anxiety. JJ’s face lit up with a smile that made her eyes sparkle behind the wall of tears. She came toward him and wrapped her gentle arms around him awkwardly. He breathed in her familiar scent, and allowed himself to smile.

“I’m so glad you’re still here,” she muttered into his hair. Tears were choking her. “I thought we lost you. Don’t do this to me ever again, do you understand? I’m always here of you, don’t you ever forget that. Oh god, Spence.”

He smiled when she pulled back reluctantly although using his facial muscles still exhausted him. Emily, Hotch and Rossi were standing in the doorway now, too, and the next few minutes were packed with hugs, suppressed tears and on Spencer’s side, awkwardness that made him tense up after the third time someone touched him. His sore muscles ached.

_“They’re all disgusted by you,” the voice whispered in his head. It echoed in his mind until it came from every side, attacking him with sharp knives. “They all laugh about your weakness.”_

Spencer forced himself not to listen to it. He’d never been one for hugging, and now, everything was worse, so much worse. But these people were part of his life, so he clenched his teeth as he waited patiently until the ordeal was over. It was Derek who finally saved him.

“Don’t you all feel like some coffee?” It was kind of obvious what he really wanted to say, but Spencer was thankful nevertheless for the attempt at subtlety. Not that he had much dignity left to protect. “And I think pretty boy here could do with some sleep.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Hotch said, immediately getting the hint. “We need to discuss some case details before we can consider it entirely wrapped up. Reid, you should get some rest.”

“I’ll bring you a coffee, too.” Prentiss’ offer was directed at Derek, who very clearly had no intention of moving from his chair. He thanked her with a grateful smile. Reid meanwhile only nodded faintly at his boss. Exhaustion crept up on him as fast as a change of weather high up in the mountains, making his eyelids heavy like stone and his mind all woozy, even without the narcotics that he’d refused. He barely registered the team leaving as his eyes were falling shut by themselves and he had trouble keeping them open. Derek’s hand was on his the very moment that the room was empty, and silent.

“Thank you,” Spencer whispered hoarsely. Derek smiled and squeezed his fingers ever so lightly.

“Sleep well, pretty boy,” he whispered back. “Never forget how much I care about you. I promise to be there when you wake up.”

_“He won’t be,” the voice in his head started with an audible evil grin, “don’t listen to him. You mustn’t get your hopes up. I’m the only one who cares about you, remember? You’re pathetic, and worthless, and fat. You have to do better. Now you’re lying in a hospital bed helplessly, getting force-fed and fatter by minute, like the pathetic fuck you are, and get sentimental as soon as your colleagues pity-hug you and your crush pities you so much that he pretends to love you. Pathetic. You mustn’t get your hopes up. I’m the only one who cares about you, remember? You’re pathetic, and worthless, and fat. You have to do better…”_

It repeated itself on and on, and although it tore his insides apart and spread darkness everywhere, it was familiar, and it was calming, because he couldn’t change what a horrible person he was, there were no expectations weighing him down and no pressure pushing him forward. Listening to the voice, he knew he’d screw up anyways, no matter how hard he tried. He’d heard it for so long, it lulled him to sleep. His sleep was light, though, filled with unsettling dreams that made him roll over in his bed again and again, again and again. He didn’t wake up when Prentiss brought the coffee and shot him a worried glance, didn’t wake up when she left again thirty seconds later, mouthing ‘good bye’.

One specific dream haunted him while he slept, emerging from his subconscious as if it had already been waiting just behind closed barriers.

He was twelve again, and in High School. Back then, he himself hadn’t known yet that he was gay, but his classmates had quickly jumped to conclusions as he lusted after neither girls nor boys. Of course the only possible explanation in the retarded brains of public school teenager bullies for that had been that he must be gay. He was twelve, crouched down in a corner of the locker room, naked and desperate. His clothes were out of reach. The floor was cold, his bruised spine ached. It was all so familiar. But the older boy standing above him with a disgusting grin was not Adam Parker, who normally took part in the scene when it replayed in his memory, anymore.  It was Derek, barking out an evil laugh, pointing his finger at him.

“Are you really so naïve that you believe I could love you?” He broke into laughter again, and suddenly the entire rest of the football team stood behind him, laughing as well, only to turn into the BAU team a fraction of a second later. Spencer screamed for help at the top of his lungs, but the gym was desert, and nobody came.

He woke up when Derek shook him.

“Spencer? Hey, kid, wake up! Kid. It’s just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. I’m right here, do you hear me? I’m right here. You’re safe. I’ll take care of you.” There was so much worry in his voice, and looking into his warm eyes made Spencer realize that this was reality, not the nightmare. Derek hadn’t turned into a high school bully. Derek wouldn’t turn into a high school bully. The fear though stayed in a corner of his mind, like a small black cloud that just wouldn’t vanish.

There was a half-eaten cup of red jell-o on the hospital night stand with the lid only pulled off half ways just like Derek did it every single time. That was all he saw before his face was buried in Derek’s chest and a strong body was holding his own together, keeping it from falling apart.

He broke down crying in Derek’s arms. Heart-wrenching sobs broke out of his chest, straining his ribs and his midriff, shaking his entire being. The older man caressed his hair softly, rocking him back and forth. Tears finally streamed down his cheeks, soaking into Derek’s shirt. He cried until he had no tears left, and even then, dry sobs still shook him. When Derek held him at an arm’s length to look into his eyes, he shivered. When had the hospital become so cold?

“You can get through this,” Derek whispered. “I believe in you, pretty boy. We can work through this together, no matter how long it takes.” Spencer sniffled. He nodded slowly, hesitantly.

_“You’ll be nothing without me. You’ll be totally lost. Who are you, Spencer Reid? Who are you when I’m not with you? There’ll be nothing left of you to love… This will never end. You won’t get rid of me anymore. I’m the only one who really cares about you.”_

“I don’t know how much of me will be left when this is over,” Spencer croaked. The wet stains he’d left on Derek’s shirt were big, and dark. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“I can tell you that,” Derek said. He smiled brightly now, despite the deep shadows under his eyes. When had he gotten proper sleep the last time? His warm hands were on Spencer’s shoulders, only slightly holding him in place, supporting him.

“You, Spencer Reid, are our little genius. Your brain can do amazing things. You are so smart that I sometimes wonder how you even put up with someone like me who can’t stand being without action for more than a few hours. You read the weirdest books. You know every goddamn thing in the world except for how to combine clothes. You are so adorable when you spill facts without even noticing it. You amaze everyone with your physics magic. You have no idea how to use chopsticks.”

He took a break, hugging Spencer again. There were tears in his eyes now, but he smiled.

“You took care of yourself from an incredibly early age on. You take care of your mother. You watch geeky shows and movies and I don’t even know half of your favourites because they are most likely black and white and totally old. I’ve never seen anyone enjoy a crossword as much as you do. You are banned from casinos in multiple cities. You’re ambitious. You’re so fucking kind, just too pure for this world. You always make me smile. You make everyone smile. We all love you. You graduated from the FBI academy although only very few people believed in you. You made it to the BAU before you should’ve even been able to start training. I’ve seen you tackle down armed Unsubs. You’ve saved my ass so many times. You’re my best friend, and so much more than that.”

Spencer inhaled deeply, then exhaled shakily. He let the words sink in, fill his heart, and they made him momentarily feel better. Whole.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Anytime, pretty boy,” Derek replied. He tightened his grip on Spencer’s shoulders slightly. The younger man leaned back into the welcome touch. It shouldn’t feel so safe for anyone to touch him, but it did. Spencer hadn’t felt this safe since the age of four, when his mother had held him, before he’d started grasping the extent of her issues. “I’ll tell you this until you start believing it, and I’ll never get tired.”

“You’re tired, though,” Spencer muttered. His eyes traced the signs of exhaustion on Derek’s face, and then suddenly his fingers did without him ever intending to raise his hand. The other closed his eyes briefly under his light touch, inhaling deeply. “You haven’t slept in ages.” Now he chuckled.

“I love you.”

“… I love you too.”

“Good. Because I don’t plan on letting you go ever again, you understand that? You’re mine now.”

“I’m not exactly able to run away right now.” He gestured towards the IV still hanging out of his arm. Derek chuckled softly again before his expression went back to serious. He briefly let go of Spencer’s shoulder with his right hand to adjust his simple T-shirt, then cleared his throat.

“We haven’t made this official yet,” he stated. His intense stare was intoxicating. Spencer felt himself getting dizzy, and he was 89% sure that this time it wasn’t because his body was giving up. “But I want it to be. I know we can’t exactly shout our relationship from the rooftops, but will you still be my boyfriend, Spencer Reid?”

“We’re too old for this terminology,” Spencer mumbled before he even registered he was going to say it. They were reminded of the heart monitor only when it skipped a beat at the question, just to pick up some pace afterwards. Derek grinned, while Spencer felt his cheeks how his cheeks heated up rapidly. Of course, that didn’t quite help. “But yes. I will.”

“Good,” Derek repeated. Apart from rolling his eyes fondly at his _boyfriend_ ’s comment, he hadn’t broken the stare once. Spencer was glad that he was half lying down already. His knees felt suspiciously like jell-o. “And now that that’s been sorted out, you really should call Garcia. I don’t feel like getting murdered when we get back to Quantico.”

“That would be a shame,” Spencer admitted. His heart felt lighter than it had in ages. Keeping up a little banter with Derek was so easy, it came all naturally. He didn’t have to make an effort to please Derek.

“Boyfriend,” the older agent mumbled. His eyes shone brightly. Spencer’s heart betrayed him yet again. This time, it made Derek laugh, actually full-on laugh out of relief and happiness and just for the sake of laughing, of brightening the greyish hospital atmosphere. “Now I can show off my incredibly smart, handsome boyfriend.”

“Can we call Garcia now?” Spencer asked shyly. He was totally flustered by now. His cheeks were burning.

“Sure thing, pretty boy.” Derek pulled his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans. It only took him a few seconds to unlock it and press Garcia’s speed dial. She picked up at the first ring. He put her on speaker phone before handing the mobile to Spencer.

_“Derek Morgan why didn’t you call me earlier how is my sweet buttercup has he woken up is he alright does he have serious injuries have you talked to him why is no one talking to me-“_

“Take a breath, baby girl,” Derek cut her off, grinning from ear to ear. He raised one eyebrow at Spencer, who got the message. Maybe they did care about him. Why would she fake that when she didn’t even know he was listening in on the call? They heard her inhale loudly.

“Hey, Garcia,” he said slowly.

_“Reid!” Her squeal on the other side of the line was almost a squeal. “Oh, boy genius, how are you? Is Morgan treating you right?”_

“Yes, he is,” Spencer assured her. The two profilers shared a glance. The corner of Spencer’s mouth twitched upwards when he spotted the rogue in Derek’s eyes. ‘Shall we tell her?’ he mouthed. Derek nodded, holding up one finger. At first, they’d only tell her. “Don’t worry about me.”

_“How in all heavens am I supposed not to worry about you?” Garcia screeched. “I just want you to be alright.”_

“I’ll make sure of that,” Derek said, protectively wrapping his arm around Spencer. “In fact…”

_“Have you…?” She asked, now rather back to a squeal. She was holding her breath now._

“Yeah,” Derek answered. Spencer looked at him, confusion written all over his face.

_“So you two…”Garcia was now apparently rummaging around in her lair in Quantico, or pacing, judging by the sound of it._

“Yeah,” Derek repeated. He was grinning. Spencer pinched his arm.

“What is going on?” He asked.

_“Ah, my sweet buttercup, you can thank your magical tech-goddess for kicking that chocolate god’s cute hiney a few times from afar,” she chuckled._

Spencer’s tired brain already had trouble keeping up with all the nicknames she used. He was not yet capable of solving riddles and putting together puzzles of hints in his mind.

“She might have suspected what I felt for you before I even wanted to admit it to myself,” Derek translated. He scratched his head with his free hand. “She basically told me to finally get my shit together.” Spencer grinned at the apologetic grin on his boyfriend’s face. He looked like a child that had been caught doing something it wasn’t allowed to do.

_“And now you two can have your happily ever after just because of me,” Garcia concluded happily. “Oh, this is wonderful.”_

“It is,” Derek agreed. “Spencer is.”

_“And how are you, Reid?” Garcia asked again, the worried undertone back in her voice._

“I’ll be fine,” Spencer said. He took a deep breath, felt Derek’s hand squeezing his own lightly, and then he believed in what he said as he repeated his own words. “I’ll be fine.”

_“I’m so glad you’re alive,” Garcia said._

“Me too,” Derek agreed.

“Yeah,” Spencer mumbled. “Me too.” His words made Garcia squeal again.

_“Okay, my beauties over there, unfortunately I still have a load of work to do over here in Quantico – isn’t that just so rude? – and can’t talk to you any longer. Promise me to take care and come back soon!”_

“Yes, Mama,” Derek mocked. He rolled his eyes, but the grin had not vanished from his face.

_“Garcia over.”_

“That was… encouraging,” Spencer commented. Derek was about to answer when the door opened again, and this time he actually jump off the bed because the position they were in, somehow all htangled up in each other in a half-lying, half-sitting way, could easily be misunderstood. Or rather correctly understood. A man in a white doctor’s overall entered the room. He appeared to be in his late fifties, active, his hair mostly grey with some streaks of black.

“Good morning, Dr. Reid,” he greeted. It was morning? Apparently. Time didn’t matter in this room. “Good morning…”

“Special agent Derek Morgan,” Derek introduced himself. “I work on the same team of the FBI as Dr. Reid.” The doctor shook his hand, then turned back to Spencer.

“My name is Dr. Evans. How are you feeling today?” He asked, flipping a page on his clipboard. He checked the IV while he waited for Spencer’s answer.

“I’m okay,” Spencer answered after a moment of consideration. “My limbs and chest hurt a little, but there’s no need to worry about that.”

“Dr. Reid, you have no injuries that we are worried about,” the doctor informed him. “Just a few bruises. What we are worried about, though, is your severe state of malnourishment.”

Spencer looked down at his hands. Could he believe that?

_“Malnourishment, ha!” The voice in his head shouted, laughing. “You just want to believe that to have an excuse to eat like the fat pig that you are. As if you were malnourished! Look at how fat you all! They all want fatten you up so that they can laugh at you afterwards, can’t you see that? You’re perfectly fine except for the abominable layers of fat everywhere on your body. You’re worthless.”_

“He’s right, pre- Spencer,” Derek muttered. “And you know that.”

“As you are legally an adult, we can’t force you to do anything,” the doctor continued. He raised his eyebrows at the quick exchange between the two profilers, but didn’t comment on it. “We would, though, suggest a psychotherapy. Your body is in a critical state. If you continue to deprive it of the nutrients it needs, you risk severe bone diseases, organ failure and your brain cells will slowly destroy themselves. I know you’re smart, Dr. Reid. I’m sure this is not news to you.”

Spencer said nothing. He stared down at his hands. The voice in his head was too loud. The doctor’s voice was too loud. The ringing in his ears was too loud. He sensed the panic attack approaching, and he couldn’t do anything. Suddenly, the scene in front of his eyes vanished, and instead, he found himself back at the crime scene where everything had started. The Unsub leaned on the opposite wall of the room, smirking. He held a gun. Spencer had his own raised to his chin, ready to pull the trigger; but the Unsub would be of much better use to them alive. The words that were burned so deeply into his brain rang in his ears, again and again and again, until the Unsub was not human anymore, but just a big black hole that threatened to suck him in.

Spencer screamed.

And then Derek was all over him, Derek’s voice, Derek’s hands, Derek’s arms.

“Oh, pretty boy,” he muttered. “Pretty boy, shh. You’re in the hospital. You’re with me. You’re not back at that awful place. Hey, pretty boy, you with me? Breathe in, breathe out. You’ll be alright.”

Slowly, Spencer was able to pull himself out of the flashback. He felt drained, as if the black hole of an Unsub had really sucked all energy, all life out of him. He sobbed dryly, practically throwing himself into Derek’s arms.

“Sh, pretty boy,” Derek whispered, caressing his back. “Shh, you’ll be alright. It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Doctor Evans still stood next to the bed, Spencer realized a minute later, when the sobbing had subsided and his heavy panting had mostly calmed down. He’d stopped taking notes on the clipboard. In his eyes, Spencer detected pity.

“As I said, we would strongly suggest psychotherapy,” he said. “We’d like to keep you under supervision for two more days. Your blood-test results are quite bad, and we need to get you to eat something. If you don’t want to eat hospital food, which I’d understand fairly well, your friend is welcome to bring you something from outside. The most important thing is that your body gets the nutrition it needs to survive and achieve things in life.”

“Understood, Doctor,” Derek answered for Spencer, who was still clinging to his shirt. “Thank you.”

“I’ll see you later,” was all the man said before he left again. Derek turned to Spencer.

“Are you alright?”

“I’ll be,” Spencer croaked out. “Can I have some water, please?”

“Of course.” Derek handed Spencer a small cup of water from the bedside table. He watched with furrowed eyebrows as his boyfriend gulped down the water at a painfully slow pace, one mouthful after the other, as if the younger even needed to measure his water intake.

He did. Water was great at suppressing hunger, but only if it was really drunk for that purpose. It needed to fill his stomach slowly, deliberately. When he realized Derek was staring, he snapped out of the habit.

“You should eat something, too,” Derek said. He didn’t comment on the water. They both knew that he’d seen it. “I can get us something, whatever you want. Thai? Chinese?”

Spencer remembered that those used to be his favourite take out foods, and he wanted to say yes. He wanted to see Derek smile again. But although he knew it wasn’t rational, knew his body needed the nutrients, the calories, he couldn’t bring himself to react. It was too much. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t get any fatter, and worse, he couldn’t eat in front of Derek with his perfect body. Tears started to build in his eyes.

“Hey, hey,” Derek mumbled, hugging Spencer. “I know that this is incredibly hard for you. But remember, it’s just the voice inside your head. What you’re thinking isn’t real. Your body needs the fuel, pretty boy. I need you to eat something for me, yes? It doesn’t have to be takeout if you’re not comfortable with that.”

“I…” Spencer stuttered. The words wouldn’t properly form sentences in his head, wouldn’t make any sense. “I’m fat, Derek. I can’t eat.”

“Spencer, you’ve always been skinny as a stick,” Derek said patiently. There was no trace of anger in his voice, no trace of frustration. “And now, you’re nothing but skin and bones. Please. Don’t kill yourself in front of myself. We’ll get you the best therapist, but until then you need to eat.”

_“He’s lying,” the voice in his head screamed. “Don’t listen! Don’t listen!”_

But Spencer nodded slowly, fiddling with his hands in his lap until Derek took them into his own and squeezed them lightly.

“Just don’t make me choose,” he said quietly. “I’ll try.”

The dazzling smile that spread on Derek’s face was worth standing up to his own mind, was worth the screaming in his head that made it hard to concentrate on anything.

“You’re doing a great job, pretty boy,” Derek praised. Spencer wanted to feel ashamed that he needed to be praised like a child or a dog, but Derek’s words warmed his heart up and made everything seem easier. “I’ll get JJ to bring us something so that I don’t have to leave you alone, how does that sound?”

“Good,” Spencer admitted. “I feel like a small child,” he then mumbled. His cheeks were burning again. He didn’t dare to look into Derek’s eyes, but the older man softly put his hand under Spencer’s chin and lifted his head up until their eyes were locked again.

“Everyone deserves to be taken care of at some point,” he stated firmly. “You’ve been so strong for so long. There is no need to be ashamed for being a little vulnerable after how much you’ve been through. Do you understand that?”

Spencer nodded. He still felt weak, though. Derek wouldn’t break. But what was breaking at this point? If he didn’t eat, he let the voice in his head win. He’d make Derek and everyone else unhappy. Rationally, he knew that at some point, he’d die. If he did eat, he’d let the pig in himself win. He couldn’t win, no matter what he did. But at least he could make Derek happy. The older man was on the phone with JJ already. Spencer took care not to listen in on what he was ordering. He didn’t want to panic already before the food arrived.

His stomach churned at the thought of food already, but he couldn’t figure out whether it was out of disgust or hunger. He hadn’t eaten in so long. He hadn’t even had black coffee in more than twelve hours. Maybe it was a mixture of both, just like his mind was one big chaos, his life, everything.

“I’m sorry that I’m making this so difficult,” he breathed when Derek had put his phone back into his pocket and was now simply looking at him. “I’m so sorry.”

A second longer, and he might’ve started crying again, but Derek seemed to have a sixth sense for when a hug was very much in need. They just sat there for a minute, holding on to each other. Spencer took deep breaths, his face buried into his boyfriend’s neck, and slowly managed to calm down.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Derek muttered earnestly. “None of this is your fault. Seeing you like this breaks my heart, Spencer, but I love you, and we’ll get through this together. I’ll be with you every step of the way, and when you’ve lost the path, I’ll guide you back to it. Right now you need to let me be your guide, and trust me.”

“I trust you,” Spencer heard himself saying. “I trust you more than anyone else.”

As a response, Derek simply held him tighter, until the door handled being softly pushed down indicated JJ coming with their take out and they broke apart slowly.

“Are you alright?” She asked upon entering and placing a huge white plastic bag on the sheets at the bottom of Spencer’s bed. “Hotch told me this is on the bureau. Do you need anything else?”

“No, thank you, JJ,” Derek said. Spencer smiled at his friend.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. She smiled back at him with tears in her eyes.

“I’ll see you later, then? The jet leaves at three pm, but I suppose you won’t be coming with us?”

“Tell Hotch to file some personal days for me, please.” Derek was staying. Spencer felt like the Rocky Mountains had been lifted of his shoulders for the third time this day, and it wasn’t even noon. “It’ll be obvious why Spencer is staying.”

“Will do.” JJ nodded, smiling with suppressed tears in her eyes. “I hope you like the food. Take care, Spence.”

“Thank you, JJ,” Spencer said, forcing a smile out of him. She deserved to see him happy. She didn’t deserve to see him weak like this. “I’ve got Derek with me.”

When JJ had left, he turned to his boyfriend, slowly shaking his head, furrowing his eyebrows.

“We’re so obvious, aren’t we?”

“They would’ve found out rather sooner than later anyways,” Derek laughed. “Seriously though, Rossi is the reason that those fraternization rules even exist, and Hotch doesn’t care as long as he can pretend not to know. The others will be delighted.” Spencer couldn’t help but smile. Derek’s laugh was contagious.

They slowly started unwrapping the typical white takeout boxes. Derek was hungry, at least judging by the way he stared at the box of springrolls in his hands. Spencer kind of was, too. His stomach churned. It all looked so delicious, so forbidden. He didn’t know where to start. He was afraid that he wouldn’t know where to stop.

“You can do this,” Derek encouraged him. “We’ll do it together. You like this, pretty boy. Food is not the enemy.”

“Food is not the enemy,” Spencer repeated quietly for himself. The voice inside his protested vividly, supplying him with an endless stream of absurdly distorted pictures of himself, one fatter than the other, covered in Chinese takeout. He blinked to make them vanish, blinked four times before he was able to get rid of the images. Derek was watching him closely, but without any judgement in his expression. He shut the voice in his head out. Then, he reluctantly took a springroll, lifting it up to his mouth, taking a slow bite. It took him forever to chew, took him forever to eat the entire small spring roll, but when he was done, he saw the bright smile on Derek’s face and couldn’t bring himself to hate what he’d just done.

“You’re doing so well, pretty boy,” Derek praised, squeezing his boyfriend’s hand. “You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you.”

Shyly, Spencer smiled at his boyfriend. He was able to do this. He’d make Derek happy, and maybe at some point during the journey, he could make himself happy again, too.

**“The mind is superb instrument if used rightly. Used wrongly, however, it becomes very destructive.” – Eckhart Tolle**


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last official chapter! There'll be an epilogue next week, though, so there's no need to be sad yet.  
> I'm eternally grateful for every single person who has read and enjoyed this work, left kudos or even commented. Thank you all so, so much!

Derek’s feet hammered a steady rhythm on the pavement that he counted along to in his head. One, two, one, two. The music coming from his earphones was blaring, blocking out every single noise that Lincoln made at seven am, filling his head and mind with bass drums. He panted heavily. His lungs and muscles ached, but the pain felt good after all that sitting in a tiny, sterile hospital room. He’d finally pulled himself together and confessed to Reid, and although he could’ve naturally imagined about a million better ways for them to finally get together, what they had now was still perfect. His pretty boy. His pretty boy _friend_ now. One, two. One, two. But the next time would still be so difficult. Seeing how hard Spencer tried, how hard he tried for every bite of food that he’d eaten within the last two days, and seeing his hopeful eyes reaching out for Derek’s permission afterward, broke his heart every single time.

As a rather impatient person, the painful, slow recovery from an eating disorder, watching Spencer eat a serving for a five year old with difficulty, made Derek aggressive; angry at himself for letting it come so far, he constantly wanted to punch something, make someone pay for the suffering the person he loved most in the entire world had to endure, but there was no one he could hold responsible. No one alive, at least. So instead of getting himself arrested for the aggression and possible murder of random people, he’d decided to go for a run this morning. Only when Spencer had actually suggested it to him, of course. He’d never leave the younger man alone again without his consent. The doctors and nurses were currently doing a few last tests. Their plane back to Quantico would take off in the afternoon.

Derek stopped at a small bakery near the hospital to get both of them some breakfast. He stretched his muscles outside, watching patients walk and rush in and out of the entrance hall, and then made his way back up to Spencer’s room. The younger was awaiting him with a soft smile on his face. His face was still sunken, and he was still skinny as a stick. To Derek, he was beautiful at every weight. That didn’t excuse how he hadn’t seen it before.

He’d done some reading during the last few days. Of course he’d technically known about eating disorders, known the symptoms (how could he not have known, especially after the irony of a case they’d just had?) and known how difficult recovery was. But only now the true abyss of those mental disorders had opened up for him. He knew Spencer actually thought he was fat, although he was nothing but skin and bones. He knew that too much food would make Spencer sick because he wasn’t able to contain it anymore. He knew all of that. But it was so hard to actually go slow, when all he wanted to do was quickly feed Spencer to get him, the real him, back.

“Hey,” Spencer greeted, smiling weakly.

“Hey, pretty boy,” Derek replied. He sat down on the grey plastic chair next to the bed, the one that he’d spent most of the last two days on, and softly stroked Spencer’s cheek. “You alright?”

Spencer nodded. “Did you enjoy your run?”

“It was nice to get back out there.” Smiling, Derek put the bag with their breakfast onto the bed. Spencer didn’t protest anymore, but Derek was a profiler and he’d been his best friend for years. Nothing about this was easy for Spencer.

They ate in silence. Derek was hungry after the run, but he tried to keep himself together and eat slowly so that Spencer, who chewed carefully on every bite, wouldn’t eat alone in the end. The heart monitors had long been turned off, but of course the typical hospital spell still hung in the air and let the depressing atmosphere enter their bodies through every pore.

“I can’t wait to get out of here,” Spencer confessed quietly after he’d eaten half of his sandwich, breaking the silence. He looked lost in the sea of white sheets.

“Me neither,” Derek said. He noticed Spencer’s obvious discomfort and gently took the rest of the sandwich out of his bony hands before caressing his hair. “Don’t force yourself, pretty boy. It’s okay. Small portion sizes at first; we’ll get you a snack later.”

“Thank you,” Spencer breathed in relief. Derek’s smile had a bitter aftertaste; what if this would never change? But he couldn’t share his worries with the younger agent. He had to be strong.

They arrived in Quantico at five pm, tired and worn out from the plane ride and the airport routines. Spencer, with a small backpack on his back, looked just like a high schooler. Derek fought off the urge to hug him (and possibly do some other things to him, too) all the way during the security checks and the plane right. When Spencer put on his glasses to read, but then fell asleep against Derek’s shoulder instead with the glasses still on his nose, the temptation became almost unbearable, so Derek put his earphones on and let heavy bass drums distract him from the angelic beauty cuddled up against him.

As they left the airport, they were hit by a tsunami of glitter and colours. Not literally, of course. The entire team was there, but while most of them discreetly kept in the background a bit, Garcia wasn’t able to contain herself.

“Chocolate boy and pretty boy are finally home,” she sighed after she’d hugged them both at least three times. Spencer still was a little dizzy, having just woken up. His confusion, to Derek, was simply adorable. He reached out for the older man’s hand when Garcia was gone, not entirely aware of the situation, just to steady himself. Derek saw how overwhelmed his boyfriend was, and took it without second thoughts.

“How are my favourites? Can I do anything for you? I missed you so much. Never make me worry like this again, do you understand me? Never ever do this to me again!”

“Hello to you, too, baby girl,” Derek chuckled. “We didn’t except such a welcome committee!”

“One does what one can do,” Garcia replied, drying her cheeks with a bright yellow tissue. She sniffled. “We’re your federal escort so that you get home safely, boy genius.”

“Thank you,” Spencer said earnestly.

“Oh, don’t you thank me!” Garcia broke into tears again. “Why do I always cry? You’re all so tough and then there’s me.”

“And we wouldn’t have you any other way,” Derek assured her. “Come on, there’s some more people waiting.”

JJ claimed Spencer for her, gently enveloping him in a hug. Derek didn’t let go of his hand though while he greeted Prentiss, Rossi and Hotch.

It took them a while until they were all squeezed into cars, mostly because of Garcia’s emotional breakdown and Spencer’s exhaustion. They managed to arrive at Spencer’s flat safely, though. Hotch and Rossi quickly excused themselves. JJ left only reluctantly, but she had Henry at home and couldn’t really stay for long. Emily offered to give her a ride home.

Spencer, by this point, was half asleep on the sofa, still wearing his travelling clothes. He hadn’t eaten since three, but to both Derek and Garcia it was impossible to wake him up. They’d make up for that the next day. For now, Derek just changed his clothes to sweatpants that hung horribly loose and a T-shirt and let it be. Spencer was asleep within the minute they told him it was okay.

“You take good care of him.” Garcia had pulled herself together by then. They were sitting at the table in the living room, watching Spencer sleep. It was only half past seven, but already quite dark outside. The lights were dim. “I’ll never forgive myself for not noticing until it got this bad.”

“Me neither,” Derek agreed. He shook his head softly at the curled up man on the couch, smiling. Spencer looked like a painting, and he would pay a million dollars. “You haven’t told the team about us, have you?”

“Of course not!” Garcia shook her head, offended. “I might hate you sometimes, but I’d never out you against your will.”

“It feels nothing like with Buford to be close to him,” Derek breathed, barely audible although the. “I was afraid of being with another man, but with Spencer, it’s nothing like that. I mean, we haven’t done anything yet! We haven’t even kissed. But I know that I can trust him, you know?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Garcia smirked at him, patting his head. “That’s what they call love.”                                                                        

“I just want to hug him all day, and hold his hand, and protect him.” He shook his head yet again, amazed. A car honked outside in the streets.

“Can I say that I’ve called it now?” Her excited smirk made him chuckle.

“God, why have I been so stupid?”

“I assume that was a rhetorical question. Do you guys want to be left alone then, or…?” The question hung in the air unfinished. Derek shrugged.

“He’ll be asleep for a while. We can check whether pretty boy keeps some wine in his flat, but I doubt that there’s any food in the house. I’ll have to do some shopping rather sooner than later.”

“You shouldn’t live from take away,” Garcia scolded. She walked over to the kitchen and sighed as she looked into the fridge. “Nothing, nada, niente. Except for some old, dried out celery.”

“Oh, pretty boy…” Derek walked over to the couch and caressed the sleeping man’s hair softly. Spencer didn’t move, so Derek followed Garcia to the kitchens. She’d put her pickings on the counter: celery, coffee (but no milk anywhere to be found) and protein bars; that was basically it.

“You should order in tonight if you’re hungry,” she concluded. “And you should most definitely buy some ice cream. That’s good for the soul.”

“Will do.” Derek grinned, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. “You staying for dinner?”

“As long as you don’t plan on getting me drunk, because I have to be back on track tomorrow morning at eight. Work’s waiting, my computers never sleep.”

“Pizza okay?” Derek grinned.

“Oh, please, is the sky blue? I’m starving, all I could eat lately were my fingernails as you thought it’d be fun to make me worry. You owe me a manicure, Derek Morgan, but a pizza will do for now.”

He laughed, and then ordered their food at a place he knew far too well considering he was a grown man and really shouldn’t be able to list six different takeout places along with their numbers and menus from ordering in whenever he was home. It was just so difficult to properly shop for groceries when he could never know for sure how much he’d really be home for the next few weeks. They’d leave some for Spencer in case he woke up, or for the next day.

The pizzas and a tub of ice cream to share (Garcia beamed at him) arrived soon, and they sat down at the table again to eat, not bothering though with plates and cutlery. Spencer stirred after around ten minutes of meaningless small talk in hushed voices that made Derek feel a lot lighter.

“Hey there, pretty boy,” he said. “Decided to join us again?”

As an answer, he only got a yawn while Spencer slowly sat up and stretched out his arms.

“We’ve got some pizza for you, if you’d like to join us,” Garcia said eagerly. “You had no food at home, so we ordered in and…”

“Thank you,” Spencer interrupted. He slowly got up and walked over to the table. Derek pulled him close when he walked past.

“Sit on my lap, pretty boy. We don’t want to hurt that tailbone of yours even more do we?” Garcia cooed at them. Spencer blushed, but sat down on Derek’s thighs nevertheless, thankful. The wooden chairs he owned weren’t cushioned.

His hunger cues weren’t back yet, far from that, so he nibbled at a slice of pizza while the other two continued talking. When it became clear that none of them would eat anymore, Derek wrapped his arms firmly around his boyfriend.

“How about we throw in a movie, your choice, and take this to the couch, hm?” He suggested. “Are you okay with Garcia staying?”

“Of course,” Spencer said, and smiled. “You’re the one who’s the outsider there, Derek.”

“Boy genius is right.” Garcia laughed at Derek when he raised his eyebrows, confused. “We’ll try not to choose the geekiest movie we can find.”

Derek’s groan made both of them laugh. Ten minutes later, they were indeed settled with a movie they’d been able to agree on playing on the screen, the tub of cookie ice cream and three spoons. When Spencer ate a spoonful of it too, Derek praised him so much that he even dared to take a second one. After half of the movie, he fell asleep on the older profiler’s shoulder yet again, his body still exhausted. Garcia excused herself not long after. It had gotten rather late already. Derek decided that one time not brushing their teeth before bed wouldn’t kill them, and simply carried his boyfriend to bed bridal style before falling asleep himself.

He woke up at eleven the next morning, totally disorientated, but feeling well-rested for the first time in about two weeks. Spencer next to him was still asleep. He looked better already; the movie night had apparently done him some good. It also helped that the sheets were blue instead of white. Derek got up slowly and made his way to the kitchen before he remembered that there was absolutely no food in the house. They really needed to go shopping, but right now, he didn’t want Spencer to wake up alone. They could postpone eating a little. Maybe going out for breakfast was a good idea. So after deciding that caffeine was not worth drinking his coffee black, he simply poured himself a glass of water, decided to take a quick shower and afterwards went to back to bed.

It didn’t take Spencer long to wake up then. At first, he moved around just a little bit, slowly stirring awake from deep sleep. He was so beautiful. Of course he’d never known it, always believed it to be a joke when Derek had taken to calling him pretty boy. It had never been a joke. It had been unconscious attraction at first, long before he’d been able to name it, label it. Although the Buford case was finally wrapped up for good, and although he had done his years of therapy, homosexuality still had never been an option he’d even considered, especially not during the time in College where he’d been most willing to experiment. The things he’d done back then were not something a federal supervisory special agent needed to brag about. But he’d changed. It had taken him long, admittedly, and he still had some process to make. But Spencer wouldn’t pressure him into anything. Hell, he’d probably be ready to take their relationship further before Spencer was. Derek sighed internally, then tried to shut his overactive brain off and carefully watched his boyfriend until the younger man’s eyes slowly fluttered open, ZART like a butterfly’s wings, and found his.

“Hi,” Derek said huskily. He smiled softly.

“Hi,” Spencer croaked out, smiling back.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Spencer said. He sounded almost amazed. “Kind of, at least. The more I am with you, the more I look forward to starting therapy.”

“That is amazing.” Derek beamed. He pulled his boyfriend close. “Mhh, you think we could go out for breakfast, pretty boy? Get some air and some groceries on the way? If you want, I could drop you off at the library and go grocery shopping alone, too, I know how much you hate that.”

“Sounds good,” Spencer muttered into Derek’s neck. “There’s this book I’ve been wanting to read for a while…”

“That’s settled, then. Come on, it’s half past eleven, let’s get this day started.”

“But Derek, coffee,” Spencer moaned, holding on tighter to Derek and his blanket. “I want coffee.”

“You have neither sugar nor milk in your cupboards, pretty boy.” Derek shook his head. “You gotta stop drinking that coffee pitch black, I know you don’t like it.”

“Fine,” Spencer pouted. Actually pouted. Fuck, he looked like a high schooler again. Derek had not known at all how much he had a thing for that. Damn. “But you have to promise to get me coffee.”

“As long as you stop teasing me,” Derek muttered. “Stop the pouting. It is too cute. Stop the pouting if you want to get out of this bed before three today.”

“Someone’s feeling cheeky?”

“Very.” Derek grinned, stroking Spencer’s cheek. “It’s true, though. You’re so attractive, pretty boy. You’ve always been a real beauty, like a diamond, you know, when it’s still hidden in a rock. Stop hiding behind that rock.”

Spencer stayed silent after that, but his breathing stayed even and he didn’t back away. Derek could practically hear the ZAHNRÄDER in his head rattle.

“Stop thinking,” he scolded. “Give that big brain of yours a break. Come on, let’s put on some clothes and head out. It’s almost lunchtime.”

“Fine,” the other sighed. “If you insist. But just for coffee.”

“I’m not offended, pretty boy,” Derek laughed. “I know just how much you love your coffee. You want to take a shower? I’ll just quickly give Hotch a call and check whether there’s any paperwork I can do from here, take some workload off the team.”

Spencer nodded. It did take him another three minutes to get out of bed and pick out some clothes then before he vanished in the bathroom, but then a few seconds later the water started running in the shower. Derek smiled, satisfied, as he took his cell phone from the night stand and dialled Hotch’s number.

“Hotchner?”

“Morning, Hotch, this is Morgan,” Derek greeted. “I was wondering whether there was some paperwork I could do from… home.” Was he allowed to tell his boss that he was at Reid’s? Then again, if he wasn’t, why should he have taken those personal days? Surely not to go home.

“Morgan,” Hotch greeted. There was some shuffling in the background, footsteps. “I take it you’re with Reid? How is he?”

“Yes,” Derek said, subtly leaning against the bathroom door. The shower was still running. “He’s fine right now. We’ll take it slow today.”

“Good. Work is slow as well today, I think we’ll manage the paperwork so far. You could stop by and get some files to read through, but tomorrow will do.”

“Thanks, Hotch. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Make good use of your day off,” Hotch exhorted before he hung up. Relieved, Derek started looking around in the flat for some bags and other things that might come in useful when they were out shopping. Spencer sheepishly lumbered into the hallway with bare feet a few minutes later. He was wearing a purple sweatshirt that almost looked as if it was meant to be oversized, and his rather long hair was still damp while his cheeks were tinted a light pink. He looked adorable.

Derek grinned widely and pulled out his phone. This was an image that needed to be shared with a certain technical analyst of the FBI. And no, he would not send the picture he snapped of a surprised Spencer to Kevin Lynch.

“Hey,” Spencer protested. “Derek, I look awful.”

“Nope, pretty boy, you look totally adorable.” Derek shook his head. He quickly captioned the picture with ‘pretty boy looking so adorable I just wanna cuddle n kiss him all day’, then sent it to Garcia and stuffed his phone into his pocket before said pretty boy could make his way over. “C’mon, put some socks and shoes on those feet of yours and then let’s go.”

“This picture will not be shared with anyone!”

“…anyone but Garcia.”

“You’ve send this to Garcia?”

“You know how much she loves cute things.”

“I’m not cute, though.”

“Yes, you are. If it were up to me, my entire phone would be filled with pictures of you, but instead, there’s those horrible case files. Please, let me keep that picture to light up my day.”

“Fine.” Spencer pouted while throwing a backpack over his shoulder. Derek swallowed hard.

“You don’t even know what you do to me, kid,” he said huskily. “But let’s not get deeper into that right now, because we need to go. Like, right now. C’mon.”

Spencer looked like he was torn between chuckling and crying. The older profiler simply took his hand and squeezed it twice, softly. They left the flat when Spencer had managed to find shoes and socks and put those on, and got into Spencer battered, but still very well-functioning (well, at least Spencer insisted, claiming that the car had never deceived him before). It brought them to a cosy little diner safely at least.

Spencer was totally overwhelmed by the menu. He tensed up entirely, even pulling his hand out of Derek’s, and his eyes flickered back and forth nervously. Derek softly took the folded paper out of his hands, and smiled.

“Let me order,” he offered. “I promise you’ll like it.”

He watched his boyfriend visibly relax, and reached for the younger man’s hand again. Their fingers intertwined, cold skin against warm, and he smiled. Spencer didn’t comment at all on what he ordered; his gaze didn’t flicker once from staring at their linked hands. The waitress, an older woman of about fifty-five years, gave them a sympathetic look. Derek wanted to punch something.

They ate in almost total silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, rather an unspoken agreement that they didn’t have to fill every second with conversation. The distant buzz of other people’s conversations and the cars in the street was pleasantly quiet. The food was good; Spencer couldn’t eat much of it, but he tried the pancakes and the omelette, and trying was more than enough for Derek. (Maybe he would be a good Dad after all. Maybe he could bear responsibility that did not come directly with the job.) By the time they’d paid and gotten back into the car, Spencer had withdrawn almost completely into his shell.

“You want me to drop you off at the library now, kid? Relax a bit? Try not to show them that you’re actually reading all the books, or else they might make you pay,” Derek teased. Spencer looked up at him with big doe eyes.

“That would be nice, but you can’t do all the shopping alone, it’s my jo-“

“Pretty boy,” Derek interrupted him sternly. He’d already started the car in the parking lot, but now, he let the engine die again. “It’s my pleasure. I’m here to take care of you. You accepted that care, remember? I’ll be much happier if I see you happy, and I know how much your books make you happy.”

“Okay,” Spencer whispered. “Thank you.”

“Got nothing to thank me for, kid.” Derek started the engine again, a bit violently this time, and pulled out of the parking lot with swift movements. His temper was only down again when they were almost at the library. He needed to punch something, soon. Groceries probably wouldn’t do. “I’ll see you later, kid, okay? Love you.”

“I love you, too.” Spencer smiled, then he opened the passenger’s door and vanished behind the wooden entrance doors of the big building. Derek chuckled to himself. While he was still in the library’s parking lot, he pulled out his phone to check whether Garcia had replied. (He was actually sure. An hour had passed. Penelope Garcia, when on the job, would impossibly go an hour without checking her phone.)

He hadn’t expected _eighteen_ messages, though. What the hell had happened? Garcia wouldn’t have spammed him with- _oh_.

Damn. Fuck.

**Baby Girl: Aww, he truly is! Would u share?;)**

**Baby Girl: Morgan. Do you actually know how to use a phone?? omg**

**Baby Girl: Derek Morgan. You sent that message to a text list. I can see JJ and Emily whispering very excitedly in the bullpen.**

**JJ: Derek Morgan, is there something going on that you might have forgotten to tell us?**

**JJ: MORGAN! I called this, I knew it!**

**Prentiss: You surely would be awful at going undercover. Congrats, it was about time.**

**Baby Girl: U know that eyebrow raise thing Rossi does? He just did that, looking at his phone.**

**Rossi: I’d say some congratulations are in order. I knew you’d be frank about it.**

**Baby Girl: Hotch out of his meeting. Checking phone.**

**Hotch: You could’ve at least tried to keep this a secret, Morgan. Now I can’t pretend that I don’t know anything anymore. Make sure not to repeat this mishap, sometimes my phone bugs.**

**Baby Girl: OMG CHOCOLATE THUNDER WHAT IS HAPPENING? I’VE GOT JJ AND EMILY WITH ME WE’RE TRYING TO MAKE SURE YOU DON’T LEAVE THE BAU BUT WE HAVE NO PLAN.**

**Baby Girl: Okay, I don’t know what the heck you’re doing over there, but Hotch just came in and told us to get back to work because apparently we’re pretending that nothing happened. Lucky you!!**

**Baby Girl: Of course we won’t pretend that nothing happened. I WILL NEVER LET YOU LIVE THIS DOWN! Outed yourself in a group chat cuz love made you too stupid to use a phone, lol.**

**JJ: Can I come over tonight?**

**JJ: Scratch that, I’m coming over tonight. Spence’s, right?**

**JJ: I’m bringing Emily.**

**JJ: Don’t worry, though. We’ll be gentle… at least with Spence. He = little brother, ergo treated like a tiny puppy. You = possible danger, very able to defend yourself.**

**Baby Girl: I suppose JJ and Emily is enough for tonight? Enjoy your evening, my favourites. I located your phone and I see you’re eating, so I’ll leave you that bit of peace before the storm hits. Nobody sent boy genius messages, btw. Gotta keep the panic low.**

 

Well, that was… not good, to say the least. Not good at all. Derek bit his lip, contemplating to rush into the library and come clean to Spencer right away, but he dismissed the idea at Garcia’s last message. He was in there to relax. So he mechanically drove to the closest supermarket, filled a cart with everything they could possibly need while paying attention not to only pack so-called fear foods, but also healthy options, and even brought the groceries home before he returned to the library. The entire act took him one and a half hours, and calmed him down remarkably.

Spencer was sitting in a reading chair, deeply engrossed in a heavy book that Derek would never, ever just have the patience to read. And Derek wasn’t dumb. He was an elite profiler, too. His thing just weren’t _books_. Or mobiles, apparently. He still hadn’t gotten around to punching someone, thinking about that.

“Pretty boy,” he called when he was only a few feet away from the younger man and still had not been noticed. “I’m here to pick you up.”

Spencer looked up quickly. His glasses almost fell off in the act. He caught them just in time, and then almost dropped his book. Derek managed to catch it before it hit the ground. It indeed was heavy. He bit back a joke about a workout, and instead said: “You been enjoying yourself? How many books have you read?”

“Six,” Spencer said. “It always took me a while to choose what to read next, and sometimes I had to close a book and start another one because the employees were starting to suspect.”

Derek just laughed before he remembered that he had a confession to make. God, Spencer looked so beautiful in that armchair. He looked beautiful in any situation, really. Stunning. Breathtaking. Derek’s heart ached in his chest, sprung against his ribs with too much force for his body. The younger man’s lips were so red, so sweet, so _innocent_. When Spencer got up, readjusting his reading glasses yet again, he couldn’t take it anymore. They were in the middle of a library, shelves of books surrounding them, dust flying through the rays of sunlight in the air, making the air glitter. It was beautiful, really, but Derek couldn’t have cared less. Spencer was all he saw.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispered huskily as he brought his hand up to his boyfriend’s cheek, caressing it softly. “Spencer Reid, do I have your permission to kiss you?” Spencer sucked in a sharp breath, and blushed; but he nodded nevertheless, almost frantically.

“Yes,” he whispered. “I’d like you to kiss me, Derek Morgan.”

And that was all Derek needed to close the inch of space between them and softly press his lips onto Spencer’s. Nothing exploded around them, no fireworks went off in his mind, but they had things exploding around the too often for it to be still magical. The kiss was magical, and there was no other word to describe it; there lips fit perfectly, made for each other; Spencer’s were soft and sweet and gentle, and Derek felt at home. Spencer felt like home, and that was all he needed for them to be perfect.

“Wow,” he whispered against Spencer’s lips, slowly opening his eyes again and staring directly into Spencer’s dilated pupils. He felt about as intoxicated as Spencer looked. Damn, that man was worse than drugs, and Derek was so dead. This man would be his death. “Wow, pretty boy.”

Spencer just smiled. “Kissing actually has a lot of health benefits.” His voice was teasing, light, a bit breathless. “Maybe you should kiss me again, you know, just for health.”

“There’s nothing I want more.” Derek pulled back reluctantly, intertwining their hands. “But first, I have to make a confession, and I’m not sure whether you will want to kiss me ever again after that.”

Spencer’s face became stone, grey and hard, and back immediately were the shutters behind his eyes that blocked out everyone, including Derek. The older man sighed, reaching for Spencer’s hand again the he’d pulled away, but gave up when Spencer wouldn’t let him take it.

“That picture from earlier,” he began. “The one I sent to Garcia, you know? Well I kind of… accidently… sent it to everyone. So we’re… outed? The caption was pretty direct, and hard to misunderstand, and they’re profilers of course they’ve seen it coming as well, but still I’m so sorry. I know we weren’t ready, pretty boy.”

He watched Spencer’s expression carefully, but every reaction to his words stayed behind those awful shutters. It was unimaginable how much experience Spencer must’ve had at keeping people out of his brain and emotions. Not a single twitch of his eyebrow gave away what he thought, not a flicker of his eyes, before he slowly reached for Derek’s hand and the shutters went up again.

“I’m not mad at you,” he said, carefully phrasing his thoughts. “You were less ready than me to come out; if anyone had ever asked, I would’ve _come out_ as bisexual before. I’m not ashamed of my sexuality, and I’m even less ashamed of you. How could I be? Some difficulties might occur at work now that Hotch knows, but apart from that…”

“Oh, pretty boy.” Derek beamed as a brick the size of the entire FBI building tumbled off his shoulders, leaned forward, and pressed his lips to Spencer’s yet again. When they broke apart, he didn’t move his hand from the back of Spencer’s head. “Just for the record: If that big brain of yours was wondering again, I’m not at all ashamed of you. I’m kind of glad that we’re out. And we got positive reactions all over, too. By the way, Emily and JJ invited themselves for tonight… You know you can’t do anything against those women, they’re way too fierce.”

Spencer opened his mouth, ready to say something, but he was interrupted by a stern woman with her greyish hair tied up in a firm bun, impatiently tapping her wrist although there was no watch, and staring them down from her size of maybe five feet two. She was wearing an impressive floral print dress, though.

“I have to ask you to leave,” she said. “Are you going to purchase that book or not? We do not accept public displays of… affection like that.” Great, they’d managed to run into a homophobe. While Derek’s blood temperature went up a notch immediately, Spencer calmly put the book back onto the shelf and pulled out some others.

“I’ve found it not to be a very interesting read,” he explained to the woman as if the homophobic comment hadn’t happened. “It also contains some incorrect information. I will gladly purchase these, though.”

He then proceeded to shove the books into her arms (four hardcovers with a rather impressive amount of pages) and walk to the check out. Only Derek saw the amused glint in his eyes, and shook his head fondly. The employee was outraged, but the fear of losing a good client was stronger, so she carried the books over to the cash register and let Spencer buy them, all with pursed lips and icy eyes. Derek took the bag of books when she handed it to him without a word, and they left the shop with furtive grins on their faces.

“Mh, pretty boy, wanna kiss you again,” Derek muttered when they were outside. Spencer blushed at first, shying away a little, but there was nothing he could hide behind. When Derek’s hands were on his back, he gave in to the touch, leaning against his boyfriend. Time and space didn’t matter anymore when they kissed. Nothing mattered. They broke apart, panting softly. The parking lot was still empty around them. Derek laughed softly to himself. It was so easy, and yet it wasn’t, and wasn’t it always like that? Spencer always brought out the thinker in him.

“Let’s go home,” he suggested. “You can choose what you want to do. Either you prepare dinner for when the girls are there, with me, because I think they won’t accept takeout, and we’ll just hope that the kitchen won’t be on fire afterwards. Or you read your books and let me handle the food. Whatever floats your boat.”

“I would like to stay with you,” Spencer mumbled quietly. He yawned, and slightly leaned against the car.

“You can also read in the kitchen. Whatever you want, kid.” Derek unlocked the car at the driver’s side and they got inside, but he didn’t yet start the car.

“Thank you.” Spencer blushed again. At least he could blush again. There was some colour back in his face. “And thank you for everything you’ve done already. Seriously, Derek. Thank you.”

“I love you,” Derek said simply. “I love you, and I want to take care of you. I’m happy around you, I’m happy to be with you, I’m happy when you’re happy. You’ve got nothing to thank me for.” He put the keys into the ignition and turned. The car came to life, and the noise filled the silence that followed his small speech.

“I love you, too,” Spencer finally said when they were already almost back at his flat. Derek smiled.

JJ and Emily rang the bell at seven pm, when Derek had just finished cooking their dinner. He’d decided on simply making roast potatoes and fried eggs, and it had actually turned out fairly good. Spencer was sitting on a kitchen counter, his nose deeply buried in one of his books. He didn’t even hear the bell ringing, so Derek went to open the door and welcome the girls. They were smiling broadly even after climbing the six flights of stairs. Emily waved around a bottle of sparkling water, and laughed.

“Hello there, lover boy,” she greeted. “Where have you left your better half?”

“In the kitchen,” Derek answered, grinning. “Hi, Prentiss, hi, JJ. It’s nice to see you. I see you’ve brought some goods for us. Dinner is nothing fancy, but there should be enough for everyone.”

“Oh, we weren’t expecting anything fancy,” JJ said while she was taking off her jacket. “I just want to see Spence.”

“In the kitchen,” Derek repeated, pointing behind his back with his thumb. He took JJ’s jacket, and then Emily’s, and put both on coat hangers. “Bought some books earlier while I went grocery shopping. It’s adorable.”

“Thanks,” JJ called, already halfway gone. Emily smiled at Derek before she pushed past him as well. Derek shook his head, but then quickly followed them. You wouldn’t have thought those two were the same women as the two tough FBI agents that he normally knew. JJ and Emily were already talking to Spencer when he arrived, chuckling about something, and the younger man seemed mostly at ease, so Derek busied himself and left them alone. He set the table, distributed the food and then called for his friends. Derek and the girls kept up a light-hearted banter while they were eating, and Spencer just smiled happily as they described in detail Hotch’s reaction to the message.

“I swear, I saw him coming out of that conference room. He immediately checked his phone while walking because that’s what he does, and he almost stumbled.” JJ laughed.

“Hotch doesn’t stumble, no way,” Derek protested with wide eyes.

“He doesn’t,” Emily agreed. “But he almost did because of you. Then, he legit suppressed a smile and instead rolled his eyes.”

“You’re inventing this.” Derek crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I’ve never seen Hotch roll his eyes.”

“But now you’ve made him roll his eyes.” JJ grinned. She lay down her fork on her empty plate and sighed. “Your cooking is actually not that bad. I hope your intentions with my baby brother here are even better.”

“Why, thank you! And of course they are. I’ve only got the best intentions.” Derek, too, had finished eating. He took a sip of his drink and carefully watched Spencer, who had gotten a smaller serving than the others, and almost finished his food as well. Proudly, he patted the younger man’s knee under the table, and Spencer raised his glance for the first time during dinner to smile at him. He brought the fork to his mouth one last time, chewed slowly, and then put it down on the empty plate. Derek winked at him.

“So,” JJ began carefully, eyeing Spencer with a mixture of love and pain in her eyes that you would only look at your brother with, “have you found a good consultor yet?”

Derek shook his head. “We haven’t gotten to it.”

“I can recommend one,” she said slowly. “I know you saw one, too, Derek, but I don’t think he’d be suitable for Spence.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he’d be the right one. Who is it you recommend then? What do you think, pretty boy, maybe we can contact him and see whether you two have chemistry?” Derek started collecting the plates while he spoke, but then let Prentiss carry them to the kitchen so that he could reach out for his boyfriend’s hand. JJ chuckled lightly.

“Actually, her name is Maeve Donovan. She’s done amazing research in her field as well as just being a nice person, from what I’ve heard.”

“I’ve heard from her,” Spencer muttered. “Her thesis is great, and she does good work to prove herself. Her mother was an elite geneticist as well. She was in two scientific essays I’ve read.” He blushed and his eyes fluttered shut for a second, avoiding the other’s gazes. He rushed out his last words, getting quieter and quieter towards the end. “I mean, yes. I’d like to contact her.”

Derek beamed at him. JJ’s expression was not much different. Spencer was starting to rant again. Quickly, Derek squeezed his hand to make him look up again.

“We can do that,” he said softly. “It’s great that you tell us what you’d like to do, kid. Don’t hide that pretty face of yours.”

Spencer looked back up at them and the left corner of his mouth curled up slightly. Prentiss, coming back from the kitchen, started a new conversation in a loud voice about something totally different, some bloke at the FBI that had annoyed them that day because Derek, their ‘favourite alpha male’, wasn’t there. Derek didn’t listen. His eyes locked with Spencer’s, and the world around them slowed down, the cheery voices and bright colours surrounding them in a swirl.

“I love you,” Derek whispered.

“I love you, too,” Spencer whispered back.

They were oblivious of two women cooing at them when their lips met again, and the kiss was light, warmth and the brightness that awaited them in the future.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so this is it. the final chapter.  
> i really hope you enjoyed this work, i definitely loved writing it!  
> if you find the time, please let me know what you think:)

Spencer’s eyes flew open as he woke with a start. _Beep! Beep!_ He looked around in the darkness for a moment, totally lost, before he felt the heat waves resounding against his thigh where his skin was still touching his boyfriend’s. Derek was and had always been a heat radiator. He was also a deep sleeper and totally oblivious to the obnoxious beeping sound that both of their mobiles were making. Seriously. All that pretending they weren’t together anyways at whatever time in the middle of the night was slowly getting ridiculous. It had been a year since Derek had practically moved in with Spencer, and nine months since they had officially moved in together, in a new house. _Beep!_ Seriously, what was that case even? And what time was it? Spencer reached for his phone blindly, feeling around on his nightstand until his searching fingers closed around it.

6:40. It was 6:40 already. They would’ve gotten up in twenty minutes anyways, but their alarm was music, waking them up nicely, instead of that obnoxious beeping noise a message alert made. Sighing, he quickly read through the messages from JJ.

**JJ: Need you at the bureau asap. We’ve got a case. Looks bad.**

**JJ: Bring your go-bag. We’re flying to Boston. Briefing in the conference room.**

He assumed that Derek would find similar messages on his phone. The older man was still sleeping soundly, so Spencer turned the little lamp on the side of his bed on and then shook him gently.

“Derek,” he sing-songed. Well, he tried to, but the word came out sounding as if he was speaking through a metal tin. He cleared his dry throat. “Derek, wake up. They need us at the bureau. It’s twenty to seven.”

“No,” Derek moaned as he turned over, burying his face in a pillow. Considering that he usually got up fairly early and went for a run, he was extremely grumpy when he had to wake up earlier than normally. “Don’t wanna get up.”

“Sadly, we have to. The serial killers don’t respect our sleep. You only got twenty minutes less of sleep, Derek, it’s not that bad. Statistically speaking, you’ve had enough sleep for a man your age and fitness level.”

“I don’t give a fuck about statistics, I’m tired and I miss those twenty minutes already,” Derek groaned, but he stood up nevertheless. He pressed his lips on Spencer’s for a second before he swung his bare legs out of the bed and stretched his arms. “Good morning, pretty boy.”

“Good morning to you, too.” Spencer grinned. The floor next to their bed was cold, but socks and pants weren’t far away, always quick at hand. “I don’t think it is that good of a morning, though. We won’t even have time for coffee.”

“What a shame,” Derek commented dryly. He was looking for a shirt, his upper body bare and a very nice sight in the dim light, but Spencer forced himself to look away quickly as they did not have time for this. “I’ll get you some coffee, promise.”

“You’re my angel.” Spencer grinned. He was fully clothed and moved to the bathroom to get ready. Derek followed only seconds after. In hindsight, it had definitely been a good decision to shower the night before. They were in Derek’s car six minutes and thirty-five seconds later, Derek in the driver’s seat, their go-bags at Spencer’s feet. It was a busy Friday morning on the streets, but luckily not busy enough for traffic to go slow. It took them ten minutes and twenty-six seconds to get to the bureau, which was slightly below the average time they needed to go to work by car in the morning.

JJ and Emily were both in the conference room already, looking slightly dishevelled and clutching cups of cheap bureau-coffee as if their lives depended on the black gold. Hotch was tidy as ever, flipping through the case file, and Rossi was not there yet. Garcia apparently was still in her lair. Spencer immediately headed towards the coffee counter. Derek followed him, chuckling, and watched as he poured coffee into a cup, added sugar until the coffee was at least a little bit enjoyable and then practically gulped the entire cup down in one go.

“Better,” he sighed. “I feel like a human being again.”

“You’re amazing.” Derek laughed. He poured himself a coffee as well before he followed his boyfriend back to the round table. Spencer sat down next to JJ, sipped at his coffee again and flicked through the case file, blocking everything else out.

They already had four bodies. On first glance, the crime scene photos looked nothing alike. On second glance though, Spencer’s brain noted clear similarities between the women found. They were all white, between twenty-five and forty-five years old, had long dark hair and a rather athletic built. When he quickly skimmed the page with the laboratory analysis, he noticed the other obvious connection. All four deaths had the exact same cause – poison, injected through a small device in the back of their necks, like a thorn or a miniature arrow. Spencer squinted at it, but couldn’t make out what exactly it was or how it had gotten stuck where it was now. They also didn’t have the toxicological results yet and couldn’t determine the poison that had very effectively caused the women’s inner organs to fail.

“The first murder was three days ago, Tuesday at three pm,” Derek said. Unbeknownst to Spencer, who had been deeply engrossed in his own little world of letters and numbers, Rossi and Garcia had entered the room and briefing had begun. “The second followed twenty-four hours later, Wednesday, three pm as well. The third murder was yesterday, Thursday, seven am, the fourth yesterday at seven pm. He’s escalating.”

“There is no trace on the bodies how the thorns might’ve gotten there, but they’re in the almost exact same position every time.” Emily furrowed her eyebrows, studying the pictures in the file. “How is that possible?”

“The crime scenes have nothing in common, whereas the victimology is clear,” Spencer pointed out. He pushed his glasses that threatened to fall off further up his nose before continuing. “He hunts fit middle-aged women with long dark hair. Victim number one was found near a lake at a popular picnic spot, victim number two was found at a local tennis court, the third victim in a busy street on her way to work and the fourth victim on the terrace of a café.”

“Remarkable is that all four victims were found outside, and all four victims were alone,” Hotch added. “He’s well organized, leaves no trace and kills very effectively with a small dose of poison that shows effects rapidly. Witnesses reported that the victims, after they’d shown signs of not feeling well, were all dead within sixty seconds. Nobody was seen close to them beforehand.”

“His intelligence must be well above average. He also must have had a lot of time and good equipment to be able to develop a technique like that. What if he’s a professor at MIT?” JJ flipped a page in her file.

“Massachusetts Institute of Technology,” Derek mused. “That is a possibility we have to consider.”

At this moment, Garcia broke into the conference room on high heels and with bright colours. The expression on her face, though, was not so bright. Worry clouded her eyes as she strutted over to the laptop at her place.

“I want you all to take good care in Boston,” she ordered. “We don’t know how he gets those thorn-things there, but if he realizes you are FBI you might be in danger, remember that. Those awful things kill within a minute. No bulletproof vest would be enough for that. Furthermore, the local PD is at a loss because they have no evidence to collect that holds fingerprints or whatsoever. They’re working on the toxicological report, but it’s not yet done.” Some more pictures flickered over the wall. No victim showed any external signs for injuries except for scratches from where they’d fallen. “I’m running background checks of all of them but so far, nothing unusual has come up. No chronical illnesses and the most contact with the law any of them has had were speeding tickets. Normal jobs, but no connection. The first woman was a kindergarten teacher, the second worked an office job at some company, the third was a secretary for a doctor and the fourth victim was a dentist. Two of them had children, one has married her husband only two months ago and yet another one is single, at least in the official records.”

“Thank you, Garcia,” Hotch said. “We’ll find out more as soon as we get there. Wheels up in twenty.”

It was early, but the flight to Boston was too short to sleep, so Spencer simply read through the case file again and tried to find out what else the women might have in common. He found nothing, so instead he pondered over the schedule of the murders. The high level of organization suggested that the Unsub had a job that he was able to do perfectly. There was nothing sexual about the way he killed those women, and the quick and efficient deaths didn’t make it seem like he murdered out of vengeance, but still, the specific type of victim was highly personal. Spencer furrowed his eyebrows. He hated the beginning of cases when they didn’t yet have enough information to really work with. Derek’s soft laugh woke him up from his trance.

“I can hear you thinking through my earphones, pretty boy,” his boyfriend teased. “Come up with anything?”

“Not really,” Spencer admitted. “He appears not to have a regular work schedule, but one that keeps him busy during the morning at least.”

“Uni professor would fit then.” Derek pulled his earphones off, switching back into work mode, as the descend began. “Classes aren’t the same every day. I’ll tell Garcia to do background checks on the professors at MIT. That’s our only lead until we get the toxicological results.”

“I’ll work on a geographical profile,” Spencer decided. He turned to JJ. “Have the local police set up a room for us already?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you about that!” JJ frowned at herself. “It’s just way too early. In fact, the local police have recently had a burst pipe and only half of their rooms are available. We’ll need to find alternatives. But I’m sure they’ll gladly provide you with a map, Spence.”

“Why don’t we go for a little stakeout in that café the latest victim was found at? We can ask the employees some question, you can work with your map and we get some breakfast.”

“Actually, it is rather possible that the Unsub frequents all of the places where victims were killed regularly, as it appears that he doesn’t stalk the victims before or researches any information about them. It is simply their outward appearance that gets them on his list.” Spencer closed the file on the table in front of him and smiled at Derek.

“Alright, Morgan and Reid at the café, latest crime scene and geographical profile.” Hotch nodded in agreement. “JJ, I want you to make sure that the media doesn’t get or at least doesn’t spread too much information until we can give them the full profile. All of those were public places. It would not be helpful if they caused a mass panic now.”

“Alright Hotch, but I suggest we keep Emily indoors.” JJ threw a worried glance at the dark-haired profiler. “She fits the type, and Garcia was right. We need to take care.”

“I can take care of myself,” Emily protested.

“I know,” JJ said. “I know about a lot of crazy things you’ve survived and I also know I’m not even informed about all of them. But in this case, we don’t know yet how he targets his victims and how those thorns get in their place. If he targets you, there’s nothing you can do. So please stay indoors, I- we can’t afford to lose you.”

“JJ is right,” Hotch said, with Rossi nodding from behind. “We don’t need you to take unnecessary risks, Prentiss.”

“Fine,” Emily huffed, uncrossing her arms. “But then at least give me something useful to do _indoors._ ”

“You can go to the forensics,” Hotch said. “They’ll have five bodies to examine soon. I just got a text. A fifth victim was murdered just now, on the same street as the third victim. Rossi and I will go and check out the crime scene. The local PD has secured the crime scene.”

The atmosphere on the jet was tense. Once again, this case was a race against time. With an escalating and highly efficient Unsub, they had no time to lose. As soon as they’d landed, Spencer and Derek got into one of the SUV’s that were waiting for them. They dropped Emily off to help check out the corpses and made sure she got inside safely despite her rolling her eyes six times in five minutes, and then Spencer directed them to the café that they had chosen for their stakeout. On the way, they got a map of the city from an old lady in a small shop. They were still laughing about her when they entered the café.

“Her face was priceless, man,” Derek grinned as a young, blonde waitress approached them. She was pretty, Spencer noticed. They couldn’t show that they were a couple, but it was still clear, at least to him, that Derek had no eyes for her. “Two coffees, and we’d like to see what your options for breakfast are, please.”

“Of course, sir.” When he smiled at her, she blushed ever so slightly. The pink on her cheeks darkened as he motioned at her to come closer. Spencer could barely hold back a smirk. When Derek flashed his badge, she flinched.

“Special agents Derek Morgan and Dr. Spencer Reid. We’d like to speak to you for a moment, but don’t make it obvious,” he said, still smiling.

“About yesterday?” She asked. Her voice had gone up a notch. She nibbled at her fingernails nervously. Her fear was obvious. Spencer couldn’t blame her. “It wasn’t my shift yesterday, I’m sorry. But I can get my colleague, she worked yesterday when… when it happened.”

“That would be nice.” She backed away slowly, now no longer intrigued, but rather intimidated by his smile. Again, Spencer couldn’t blame her. Whether she would remember their coffees and the breakfast menu though was not yet sure. Derek shook his head slowly when she had vanished behind the door to the back.

“The poor girl,” Spencer commented, smiling softly. “There she thought you were flirting with her, and it turns out you’re just pretty good at faking that.”

“That’s why we play poker on the jet so much, pretty boy.” Derek grinned, brushing his knee against Spencer’s under the table. “It worked, though. Nobody noticed a thing. We couldn’t have walked in and screamed ‘FBI! Everyone on special guard!’.”

“Subtlety is key,” Spencer sighed. The double meaning of his words hung heavy between them, so heavy that he quickly cleared his throat and then pulled the map out of his pocket. “So, we’re here right now…” He pointed to the spot on the map where the café was. “The street that two victims were found on is here. The tennis court is here, and the picnic spot is here.”

“He has a comfort zone.” Derek furrowed his eyebrows at the map spread out in front of them. “Granted, the picnic spot is a little further from the centre of it than the others, but we’d said that he knows the places, right?”

“He probably frequents them, yes.” Spencer fumbled in his pocket and then groaned quietly. Derek shot him a questioning glance, so he shrugged. “I’ve left my pen in the car, that’s all.”

Derek lifted up his hands. “I don’t usually carry pens with me, pretty boy, you’re going to have to ask for one.”

“Tamara said that you wanted to talk to me? I’m Lindsay.” A female voice interrupted them. Neither had seen the young woman coming. They’d have to observe more as they were officially on stakeout. This wasn’t a simple breakfast date with some map consulting, as much as they both wished it was. The woman had bright red hair and tattooed sleeves. She didn’t fit the type. Spencer was relieved. “Said it was urgent.”

“Yes, that’s right. Would you sit down for a moment?” Derek pulled out a chair for her. Other guests in the café briefly gave them strange looks, but they went back to minding their own business pretty quickly. It was Friday morning, after all. People were just glad that the week was almost over. She sat down reluctantly. Spencer discreetly flashed his badge at her.

“Special agents Spencer Reid and Derek Morgan,” he introduced them. Tamara had taken the ‘don’t make it obvious’-part of the instructions very seriously. “We just want to ask you some questions about last night. Apart from that, the local PD has difficulties with water damage that makes rooms over there unavailable for us, which is why we are here. When we are done with the questions, just treat us like regular guests who are having breakfast and working a bit.”

“Okay,” Lindsay said. “Okay. Okay.” She paused and grasped her apron to stop her hands from shaking. “What are your questions? I’ll try to answer, but everything went so quickly. I saw how she fell from the counter. When I arrived seconds later, she was already dead.” Her brain hadn’t had enough time to properly digest the memory yet; it shook her still, frightened her.

“The Unsub uses a poison that works very efficiently. The specialists are still working on identifying it,” Spencer explained. “In my theory, it could be-“

“You couldn’t have done anything,” Derek cut him off, touching his knee again. His eyes said ‘not here, not now’. “But anything you remember could help us find the man as quickly as possible.”

“So this won’t stop?” She swallowed visibly. “I heard there were multiple victims already, and now they’ve called the FBI…”

“We are simply supporting the local police.” Well, that was an understatement, but they had to calm the woman down to get any comprehensible information out of her. “Did you see anyone who behaved weirdly yesterday just before seven pm? Maybe someone lingered in front of the café for too long, or got aggressive inside and stormed out. Maybe someone was unusually quiet, or left without paying the bill?”

“I’m sorry, I haven’t seen anyone. Everyone paid, at least that’s what the records say. There were a few regulars and a few people I’d never seen before, as usual.” She gave them an apologetic look.

“It would be very helpful if you could make a list of all regulars that were here yesterday for us,” Spencer said carefully. “Maybe one of them has noticed something odd about yesterday.” She would much rather denounce her customers if she thought they were going to be witnesses, not suspects.

“I can do that, at least for the customers that pay by credit card. I’m afraid I don’t know the names of those that pay by cash, though,” she said. Then she threw a nervous glance over to the counter, where her colleague was handling three orders at once. “I should get back to work. Is there anything else I can do for you, agents?”

“Oh, we ordered some coffee and we’d like the breakfast menu, please,” Derek said with a sweet smile. “Oh, and could you maybe lend us a pen? Thank you, Lindsay.” The woman nodded and walked away with hasty steps.

“FBI agents are so frightening to them.” Derek rolled his eyes. “I just wanna scream at them that we’re the good.”

“I’m sure yesterday they were under the assumption that the woman died of natural causes,” Spencer explained automatically. He looked around, taking in the chatting and laughing people at the other tables. Nothing about their surroundings raised his suspicion. “And now they’re faced with it in reality being murder. I mean, the locals must’ve kept this quiet or else this place wouldn’t be as busy only fifteen hours after a murder was committed here.”

“Sometimes I wish I was as oblivious as they are.” Derek sighed, but his smile reappeared in a flash as the blonde waitress, Tamara, returned with their coffees and two menus. She also handed Spencer a black pen. The coffee was good. Compared to police station coffee, it was sheer heaven. Spencer poured a pack of sugar into his cup and as he took a sip, his eyes closed in bliss. It didn’t take them long to choose, and their food arrived before long.

While Spencer ate his pancakes bite by bite, he continued pondering over the map. He marked the spots he’d found before with the pen.

“If we say this is his comfort zone,” he said, then swallowed before he continued as Derek chuckled. “Shut it. Anyways, if this is his comfort zone, then there are about thirty-eight cafés, ten restaurants, and everything combined? About a hundred possibilities where we might have the next victim.”

“That is too much. We can’t evacuate the entire centre of Boston, and there is way too much life in this city, too many students. I really like the second theory better.” Derek furrowed his eyebrows, studying the map.

“If the Unsub frequents these places, it is much more likely that he lives in close proximity to this café than to the picnic spot.” Spencer drew a circle around the café on the map, using his half-empty plate instead of a ZIRKEL. “The equipment could be better.”

“Then again, we don’t often get breakfast like this on a case.” Derek laughed. “But you’re right; the only food place I’m a regular at are takeout places close to our home, but if we had time, we’d surely go to the café around the corner for breakfast or whatever, not choose one across town.”

“Then the profile right now would suggest an intelligent male, aged approximately forty to fifty, who might be professor at MIT. In his free time he plays tennis and likes to go for picnics. He also probably lives somewhere in this circle.” Spencer pointed to the map again. “We’ve only been working for a few hours. Considering that, we have already found a fair amount of possible leads.”

“Well, congratulations to us, pretty boy. Wait, that’s my phone.” Derek pulled his ringing phone out of his pocket and quickly accepted the call. “Hotch, what’s new?”

“Why don’t they ever call me?” Spencer wondered aloud, frowning. Derek grinned at him, shrugging. Then he squinted as he listened to Hotch on the phone. Spencer meanwhile continued eating his breakfast, and snatched a bite of scrambled eggs from Derek’s plate while the older man couldn’t protest. Derek simply rolled his eyes at him, and, with his free hand, took a forkful of Spencer’s pancakes.

“Okay,” he said finally. “I don’t know whether I like that or not, but at least we know more.” He hung up and put his phone down on the table.

“What is it?” Spencer asked. He pushed his empty plate away, creating more space for the map. There was a coffee stain on it already, but it was just a disposal map, and really, they weren’t the ones to blame for the unfortunate circumstances.

“Garcia has found surveillance footage of the latest murder,” Derek explained. “She had to zoom in quite a bit, but apparently the thorn or arrow or whatever that freaking thing is gets to the exact spot on the victims’ neck after being shot from some kind of miniature unknown flying object.”

“A drone?” Spencer raised his eyebrows incredulously. “I can imagine how difficult it must be to aim that exactly with something that is steered from afar.”

“And I can imagine what the media will call this one,” Derek muttered darkly. He, too, finished his food and pushed the plate away. The waitress collected them quickly, smiling. Derek paused until she was out of earshot. “Has there ever been a Mosquito Killer before?”

“As far as I know, that is a new one. But actually, this adds to the profile. Mosquitos might have significance to him.” Shuddering, Spencer let his gaze wander around in the café, but nothing had changed. Still nothing unusual for a café mid-morning.

“Apart from being totally annoying? I’d rather kill _them_ than kill _like_ them.” Derek huffed. “Seriously.”

Spencer snorted. “Your blood is just too appealing to them. I remember when we had that case during summer. After that one night in the hotel room-“

“It was like a sauna in there! I had to open the windows,” Derek defended himself.

“You had twenty-nice mosquito bites,” Spencer teased. “I remember every single one of them, and I remember how much you whined to me because I had not a single one.”

“It wasn’t fair! Of course you remember, Mr. Genius with the eidetic memory.” Derek rolled his eyes fondly. “Ugh, I can still feel the itch. Why did you remind me of that?”

“Now that your deep hate for mosquitos is back, you’ll catch that Unsub in no time.” Spencer grinned at his boyfriend, lightly brushing their knees together under the table. “No, really, I just sometimes like to see you whine.”

“But…” Derek pouted.

“You’re doing it again. And don’t you make those puppy eyes at me, _Morgan_ , or else I’ll kiss your brains out of you right here and that is not the most intelligent thing to do right now.”

“Someone is a little on edge today.” The older man’s pout was replaced by a satisfied smirk. “But back to work. Garcia is checking who has an extraordinary connection to drones and chemistry around here.”

“That’s good. Have the toxicological results still not come in?”

“The boss didn’t say anything about those, so I assumed they haven’t. JJ is successful at keeping the media from making a fuss about the entire thing so far, and the STREIFEN have been doubled. The cops don’t have anything to do, anyways, as they can’t properly do paperwork in that damaged station. They’re in civil.”

“More than we are, probably.” Spencer looked down himself, then Derek. They were both wearing black, but at least had left their jackets that said ‘FBI’ on them in the SUV. Still, they didn’t exactly look like just two mates who were casually having breakfast. And looking at a map. In fact, they didn’t look casual at all.

“Why, black is always fine.” Derek chuckled. “Much safer when you’re dressing still half asleep. I don’t wanna show up at the job wearing one of your weird print shirts.”

“Hey, those are awesome!” Spencer playfully crossed his arms in front of his chest, frowning at Derek. “I need more coffee to put up with you.”

“You can get more coffee for as long as we’re on stakeout, and waiting for the list of customers, as far as there’ll be a list.”

“Let’s just hope our Unsub doesn’t like carrying cash,” Spencer sighed. He waved the waitress over and ordered another coffee. Then, his phone buzzed in his pocket, three times in a row. He raised his right eyebrow, pulling it out. All three messages were from Emily.

**Emily: Hey Reid, check this out for me?**

**Emily: _image_**

**Emily: How do you think those were shot out of those ufos? Poison was in little tube inside, tip probably opened on impact. One thing is sure, our Unsub has class. I’d watch this movie, but I don’t really like being in it.**

He quickly typed a reply, telling her about the nickname Derek had given to their Unsub and that they’d check out the picture of the tiny devices that were found stuck in the victims’ necks. Then, he pulled up the picture on the screen of his phone and pushed it over to Derek on the table.

“Emily’s sent us this,” he explained. “Asks how we think those were shot from the UFOs.”

“Good question.” Derek rubbed his chin. “It has to be possible to be triggered from afar, too. I’d probably shoot a tiny arrow with a rubber band, but that won’t be it.”

“You probably shot arrows with a rubber band when you were little.” Spencer smiled widely, and beamed when his coffee was brought. “Thank you. And I can so imagine that. How cute.”

“And you read encyclopaedias,” Derek said defensively. “Everyone has their thing, and throwing things around outside is much more common than yours, pretty boy. Oh, you look cute when you practically orgasm over coffee. Maybe we should invent coffee play or something like that. Take that to the bedroom.”

“Derek!” Spencer squeaked and slapped his boyfriend’s arm. “Gross! Coffee is holy.”

“I know other things that should be holy,” the older man said huskily, brushing his leg against Spencer’s again slowly, before he broke into laughter. “Let’s just get back to work, pretty boy. Drink your coffee in peace and focus that pretty brain of yours on arrow-shooting UFOs. Shouldn’t you love that? Sounds like some geek shit to me.”

Spencer chose not to reply. Instead, he sipped at his coffee and studied those small triangular weapons that were so deadly. How were they triggered? What kind of mechanism was hidden behind those murders?

“There needs to be some kind of button,” he concluded. “I’ll make her check for scratches at the back.”

“Possible.” Derek shrugged. “As I said, geeky shit.”

“Last time I checked, you were our bomb specialist. Consider them a bomb and look for the mechanism that sets them off.” Spencer rolled his eyes at Derek’s crossed arms. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, wasn’t that what you told me a week ago?”

“One time I say something wise, and you use it against me. I’m outraged, pretty boy.” Derek grinned, uncrossing his arms. He looked at the small thorns again, and suddenly noticed two little lighter spots at the side of each thorn. “I think it’s an electronic magnet.”

“Huh?” Spencer looked up, raising his eyebrows.

“You know, a magnet that you can turn on and off.” Derek grinned, obviously very satisfied that he’d now found out something. “With an electronic switch. Power on, magnet on. Power off, magnet off, fire.”

“That’s actually… I’ll tell Emily about this.” Spencer pulled out his phone quickly. “If you’re right, those thorns are probably made out of silver or copper, as those would cause the strongest effect. He’d have to find a way to keep his UFO up in the air while turning the power off. He also needs to be around somewhere as it is remote-controlled, but surely not able to fly long distance as small as it is. That would give him a radius off about… twenty metres.” He lay the phone down on the table and took the pen back into his hand to draw smaller circles, using an empty glass of orange juice, around the crime scenes. “We need the local police to check out hiding spots in all of those areas.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll call Hotch,” Derek proposed. Spencer only nodded absentmindedly, his mind still on the highly advanced technology that their Unsub had used. He checked the picture he’d gotten from Emily again, and frowned. If Derek was right, the thorns would have to fit perfectly to build up enough pressure, wouldn’t they? Differences in the shape would also inevitably alter the angle in which the short flight was started, and thus the angle and position of the impact. But none of the thorns were exactly alike.

“I think the Unsub’s using different UFOs,” he blurted out. Derek, still on the phone, looked at him questioningly. “Please ask Hotch whether I can further pursue a theory, which would require me pretending to go for another doctorate at MIT. Not as in an undercover operation of course, just so that I can speak to some professors and establish profiles of them.”

“Got it.” Derek nodded. He finished up the call, then grinned at his boyfriend. “Hotch says you’re free to do whatever might be a lead, because with the amount of actual proof we have right now we’re stuck anyway. So pretty boy wants to go to university again?”

“You know, I haven’t learned much about robotics yet, which is a shame. Think we could interrupt the stakeout, then? My coffee is empty anyways.” Spencer blushed only ever so slightly (so what if he liked studying more than the average person? One could always learn something new.) and started folding the map to take it with them when they left. Derek meanwhile waved Lindsay over so that they could pay. She brought a short list of names.

“Those are the regulars here that pay by credit card most of the time,” she said in a rush. “Oh, don’t worry about paying, it’s on the house. We also have quite a few regulars that pay by cash, and then regulars stop coming as well; we had this sweet couple who’d always come here until about two weeks ago, but I think they broke up because they don’t anymore, only the man sometimes but if he does he gets a coffee to go, and then there are always students who graduate and leave the city. But you can contact these, they were all here yesterday.”

“Thank you very much, Lindsay.” Derek smiled at her sweetly. “Let me at least leave you a tip for how much you’ve helped us.” He shoved a ten dollar bill into her hand. Spencer handed her the pen back, and thanked her as well. They left the café and got back into the SUV to drive to the university. It was almost noon already.

“He should be working right now, but if we’re unlucky, we might have a sixth victim by three pm. How much of the Boston population is in danger?” Derek shook his head as his knuckles went white on the steering wheel.

“Boston’s population is about 650000 inhabitants, about 70 per cent of which are white. If we estimate the female population at about half of that, and, considering the average age is fairly low, say about seventy percent are in the age range that the Unsub targets, that leaves us with 159250 possible victims. Of those, we only need to consider the dark haired women, but still, we should be at a number of about 85000 possible victims.” Spencer squinted. The math was easy, but the outcome, even though he’d barely estimated, was a number he didn’t like, considering they could do nothing yet to warn all those women.

“Sometimes I hate this job.” Derek sighed. They pulled onto Campus, and quickly found an empty parking space. Spencer took a blue pullover out of his go-bag and put it on instead of the black shirt. “I like that student look on you, kid.”

“I know.” Spencer grinned. “See you later. I’ll call you when I need you to pick me up, there’s no need to wait here.”

“Your wish is my command.” Derek saluted. “You look hot, pretty boy.”

“Don’t say things like that when I’m about to speak to creepy old professors!” Spencer squealed, slapping Derek’s arm. His boyfriend only laughed.

“Says the one who had an affair with his professor while he was in college and underage.”

“Yes, I was in _college_ and _underage_ ,” Spencer emphasized, rolling his eyes. “I was easily impressed! He was hot, though. Maybe he has transferred to MIT by now…”

“And how old would he be, sixty?”

“By now, his age would be fifty-seven.” Spencer laughed at Derek’s mortified expression, and then got out of the car for good. This time, he carried a brown leather satchel and he’d remembered packing his pen. “Bye, Derek.”

“Bye, pretty boy. Take care.”

Derek watched until Spencer had orientated himself on Campus and entered a building before he drove away. He decided to make Garcia check out all the names he’d gotten from the waitress at the café.

_“Penelope Garcia, speak your mind and you’ll be heard.”_

“Hey there, baby girl.”

_“Oh, my favourite profiler! What’s going on over there, chocolate thunder? I feel like you’re lot further away than just 460 miles.”_

“I’ve got a list of names for you that I’d like you to do a background check on, all of those are people who were at yesterday’s crime scene.” He rattled the names off to her and heard her fingers flying over the keyboard.

_“Got it. Anything else I can do for you?”_

“Can you imagine a reason for a man to develop an obsession with mosquitos?” He shuddered just thinking about it.

_“Ew, no. I can’t, but honey, I’ve seen weirder things on the job. Want me to look up whether there’s a mosquito cult in Boston?”_

“Something like that, yeah.” Derek laughed. “I just dropped pretty boy off at MIT and I’m still not sure that was a good idea. What if he decides to stay?”

_Garcia laughed at him while she was typing. “Hasn’t he already graduated from MIT once? Don’t worry.”_

“Wow, that cheers me up. Don’t you have some sweet talk for me, baby girl? You can do better than ‘don’t worry’.”

_“Believe it or not, some of us actually had to work while you had a nice breakfast date this morning, lover boy. Why don’t you go join Emily? I think she could use someone over there or else she might go mad. She’s called me three times already, complaining about those stupid thorns.”_

“Okay, okay.” Derek rolled his eyes when Garcia at the other end of the line simply laughed at him yet again. He didn’t like being laughed at particularly much, but apparently, she and Spencer had teamed up against him. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid, promise.”

_“Good boy.”_

With that, Garcia ended the call, and Derek was left shaking his head at his phone for no one to see. Seriously. But he did as he had promised and drove to join Emily.

 

Spencer, meanwhile, was in awe once again at all the classes and possibilities MIT offered. He blended in easily with the students on campus, still looking younger than he was, despite his now regular workouts at the gym with Derek, and, from his own time of being a student there, of course remembered where he had to go. He headed over to the department that he deemed most likely for the Unsub to work at. There, he lingered outside a lecture hall, unsure what to do next. In hindsight, he wished he’d taken more time to prepare and look up the coursework for classes so that he’d know which students were most likely to construct drones. Without a clue what to do next, he studied a wall that showed pictures of all professors teaching at the institute along with their names. Most were still familiar to him, either by face or by name, and he recognized quite a few of his old professors.

“You look a little lost there. Are you new? Don’t worry, the first semester is always difficult, but you’ll quickly find your way. But until then, what are you looking for?” A student, whose age Spencer estimated at twenty-three, approached him. He was tall and broad and probably played for some sports team. For a moment, Spencer was speechless. He’d known that he’d blend in, but he had certainly not expected for someone to underestimate his age that much. He was not going to let that slide. He was almost ten years older than that guy, and he did have his pride. “My name’s Mark, by the way.”

“Thank you, but actually I used to be a student here myself. I graduated a few years ago.” He wasn’t totally going to blow his cover. There was no need to give away the exact number of years ( _fifteen_ , thank you very much), neither was he going to give away his level of intelligence by spilling too much information. Also, he had a boyfriend, and Mark’s smile was suspiciously flirtatious. Within a fraction of a second, Spencer remembered the feeling that had made him experiment during his time at MIT. “I’m just looking for a specific class that I’ve heard about. Do you happen to know where I can find it? The coursework is supposed to be about drones right now.”

“I happen to be in that class.” Mark smirked, ignoring Spencer’s comment about when he’d graduated. Maybe he had a very selective hearing. He was about the same height as Spencer, but unlike the agent big in the good, muscly way, so that it seemed like he was a few inches taller. His blonde hair was carefully styled. “But professor Davids isn’t here today. He’s ill. You still haven’t told me your name, though, cutie.”

Huh. Definitely homosexual, and quite frank about it. Still, Spencer had gotten the name of the professor, and the unsettling fact that a suspect had not shown up to work.

“My name’s Spencer,” he said sweetly. “Dr Spencer Reid, actually.” He flashed his badge at the poor student, who stumbled back and visibly shrunk at least three inches. The face under the blonde hair went bright red. “And I’ve also got a boyfriend. Could you please tell me the entire name of your professor then? You’re supporting federal investigation.”

“O-of course, sir,” the boy stammered. “H-his name’s Peter Davids.”

“You said you were in his class. What is he like? Is he often ill?” Spencer internally frowned. The name was not on the list they’d gotten in the café, but then again, the man could still be someone who liked to pay in cash. He had a feeling about this theory. He remembered Peter Davids vaguely from the professor-board, as a man around forty-five with dark hair, dark eyes and a shadow of a beard.

“Y-yes. Every few weeks, but nobody knows what’s up with him. Apart from that, he’s one of the better teachers around here. His classes are interesting, although he tends to go a bit maniac. I- I think he’s got two doctorates or something like that, why would he even do all that work? Voluntarily? And in chemistry as well, ew.”

“I hold three PhDs, in Chemistry as well as in Engineering and Mathematics,” Spencer said absent-mindedly. His mind was busy processing the information he’d received while words streamed from his mouth steadily. “To some people, learning provides happiness and more knowledge is always valuable. I personally wish I had the time to do more studies, especially in the fields I only hold BAs in, but I also manage to learn something new every day in my job and from books.”

“Okay,” Mark said slowly, drawing out the o. “Do you have any other questions then, _Dr_ Reid?”

“No, that would be all for now. Thank you.” Spencer genuinely smiled, but it was obvious that Mark just wanted to distance himself from the situation, so the older man let him run. He pulled out his phone and called Garcia.

_“Penelope Garcia, listening to you from behind a massive mosquito net, what can I do for you?”_

“Oh, has Derek called you?” Spencer chuckled. That would be just like Derek, ignore everything else and lance himself at the mosquitos. And then, of course, complain about it.

_“He indeed has, boy genius. You’re not leaving us for a fourth doctorate, are you?”_

“Who knows? I’ve already met a friendly student here, too, name is Mark, who kindly offered to show me around… and maybe some more. I had to tell him I was a federal agent to make him stop the flirting, and that I had a boyfriend as well, but you should have seen his face then.”

_“Only you would get hit on within five minutes of being somewhere, you handsome heartbreaker.”_

Spencer ignored her as a bell rang loudly right next to his ear, and he jumped. Students started to stream out of lecture halls and suddenly people were everywhere. The noise level rose exponentially. He groaned and pressed the phone closer to his ear.

“I need you to do a background check on a certain Peter Davids, professor at MIT, for me,” he said loudly. “We need to see how much he knows about drones and chemical poisons, whether he has a connection to mosquitos and whether there were any possible stressors in his recent life that maybe include a dark-haired woman. And would you report to Hotch about it?”

_“Sure thing, boy genius. By the way, I already told Derek there is no such thing as a mosquito worship cult in Boston, which I’m honestly glad about. Is it getting a little crowded over there?”_

“Well, isn’t that a relief.” Someone screamed right next to his ear, and he shuffled away quickly. “You don’t say,” he huffed, pushing through the mass of students, clinging to his satchel and his phone. “I’ll get Derek to pick me up.”

_“Aw, I’m sure lover boy will be there before you can even call him,” she cooed. “Better not tell him about your handsome admirer, though. I’ll find out as much as I can about that Peter Davids. No criminal record has popped up on my almighty screens so far.”_

“Thank you.” The parking area where Derek had dropped him off earlier luckily was not half as crowded as the campus centre. Spencer took a deep breath. Crowds were not his thing. This definitely made him cherish his relatively private desk space in the bullpen.

_“Anytime for my genius,” Garcia sing-songed. “Now make your lover boy pick you up from there. Talk to you later, my sweet little buttercup!” The next thing he heard was the line clicking._

Spencer was just about to press the speed dial button for Derek when a message made his phone vibrate violently in his hands.

**Derek: New victim, Prentiss with me, picking you up in a minute then crime scene. Bastard is fast. Be ready**

Calling Derek was unnecessary, then. The black SUV indeed came to an abrupt halt in front of him two minutes and thirty-eight seconds later with squealing brakes. Spencer climbed into the car quickly. Emily was in the backseat with the tinted windows, her annoyance forgotten. She’d tied her hair up to a firm ponytail, and was wearing a red beanie that looked a little weird on her. He raised his eyebrows at her questioningly, and she shrugged.

“JJ insisted. It’s her beanie, too. Suits her much better if you ask me.” She rolled her eyes, but a fond smile curled up her lips and made her face appear softer.

“You don’t look that bad.” Derek laughed loudly at Spencer’s words from the driver’s seat. The younger agent pouted, and demonstratively turned away from him. “If you continue that behaviour, Derek, you can drop me off right back, I got an interesting offer from a really handsome student while I was on campus.”

“Forget it, pretty boy,” Derek said, but his laughter died. It was now Emily who laughed loudly.

“His name is Mark, and I believe he has Scandinavian origins,” Spencer continued with a sly smirk, before he added in a voice as dry as the Sahara desert: “I estimated his age at about twenty-three, and he thought I was younger than him.”

This time, they all broke into laughter. It only subsided when Derek made the car slow down as they approached the crime scene.

“Who is the victim?” Spencer asked, back to serious.

“She hasn’t been identified yet. Died in that goddamned street again, but at the other end of it. From what Hotch told me, she didn’t carry an ID because she was running.” Derek’s knuckled went white on the steering wheel as he pressed the words out through gritted teeth. “Should be easy to identify her, though. Victimology is the same.”

All of a sudden, Derek slammed on the brakes and the car came to a full stop in the middle of the street. Someone honked behind them, but Derek didn’t care as he jumped out of the car before Spencer in the passenger’s seat had even managed to regain his breath. He’d been thrown into his seatbelt. Emily groaned in the backseat.

“Why, Morgan,” she moaned. But Spencer, as soon as he was sure that his lungs hadn’t suffered any lasting damage, pushed his door opened and followed Derek outside. Sitting on the street before them was a man. He was shaking from a heavy coughing fit. His clothes looked like he’d worn them for days, and his beard was as dirty as his longish hair. Illness radiated from him as well as feverish heat. Spencer worriedly stayed back a little. He didn’t want to imagine all the germs that that man had to carry. He definitely needed a hospital, but they didn’t really have enough time to stay.

“He just collapsed, directly in front of us,” Derek breathed, stressed. His hands were shaking. “Shit, man, I almost ran him over. Are you okay, sir? Shit, shit. Why now?”

“I’m okay,” the man coughed. “Don’t worry.”

“What’s your name, sir?” Derek asked worriedly. “Can we do anything to help you? Call an ambulance or something? My partner over here-“

“No, it’s fine.” The man coughed again, but he was already stumbling back to his feet and off the street. Spencer furrowed his eyebrows. The man looked strangely familiar to him. He shook the feeling off, telling himself that he was probably just getting paranoid. How would he know this man? “Thank you. I need to get going…”

He stumbled away. The drivers behind them were getting more and more impatient, continuously honking now, so quickly, the two agents got back into the car. Emily was waiting for them expectantly, her hand on the door handle. The beanie had slipped and was now covering half her forehead.

“What the hell was that?” She asked when Derek had slammed the car back into motion. “Morgan! Would you mind giving my stomach a break?”

“Sorry,” Derek called back to her. His face was still tense. “Almost ran over a man.”

“Are you kidding me?” Emily practically climbed out of the backseat.

“There was a man on the street,” Spencer explained. Derek had to slow down the car again in thick traffic. “He appeared to suffer from a severe illness, and collapsed in front of the car, but he insisted that he needed no help.”

“And we have to catch a serial killer here after all,” Derek added grimly. His phone rang loudly through the noise of traffic everywhere around them. They were less than half a mile from the latest crime scene.

“Morgan?”

_“I assume Reid is with you?” Garcia’s voice bled through the speakers. She didn’t sound as cheerful as usually._

“I’m here,” Spencer called, shifting in his seat towards the speaker. “Do you have any information about Peter Davids?”

_“Uh-huh, and I think he might be your man. He has a doctorate in Chemistry and BAs in Mechanical Engineering as well as Electrical Engineering. But, and way more interesting, he also suffers from Malaria, which he infected himself with on a trip to Africa half a year ago. He has a wife, Elena Davids, who fits the victimology perfectly. She is a member of the local tennis club, the one the second victim was killed at. Two weeks ago, she booked a single hotel room in the city with her credit card and has not purchased anything or made an appearance anywhere ever since then. She’s just gone.”_

“He might’ve killed her,” Emily said. Her face was slightly green, but it wasn’t clear whether that was from the image of Peter Davids’ first murder being his own wife, or the way Derek drove through the Boston afternoon traffic. “And it wasn’t enough, so he tries to kill her over and over again, just that he can’t because she’s already dead. She probably left him because of his illness, and he wanted to make her understand.”

“Malaria is an illness that is at the current progress of medicine incurable,” Spencer supplied. “It is, however, possible, to treat the symptoms, which mainly consist of fever, ague, aches in head and limbs. It comes in episodes, the latest of which probably started the killings, and is not contagious, except for by the anopheles mosquito. Most who have fallen ill continue living their lives normally as far as possible with the illness. About 1500-2000 cases of Malaria infection are reported in the US every year, of which-“

Spencer stopped dead in his tracks.

“Pretty boy?” Derek asked carefully as he watched his boyfriend’s face turned the same shade of green as Emily’s, and then worse. “Do you want me to pull over?”

“No,” Spencer pressed out. He squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could. “Turn around. We just let our Unsub run.”

“Wha- oh, _dammit_ ,” Derek swore. “Fuck!”

“He seemed familiar to me,” Spencer breathed, holding on to his seat as Derek skidded the car around. Emily in the backseat had rapidly caught on. She was dialling Hotch’s phone already to request reinforcement. “Something about him was familiar, I knew it! I saw a picture of him at MIT, but I didn’t recognize him at first due to the condition he’s in. His hair and beard have gotten significantly longer since those pictures were taken, but I should’ve known sooner. We practically had him!”

“Pretty boy,” Derek said as calmly as possible while he roared through the traffic, back to where he’d almost run over a man only a minute earlier. “How much of a coincidence was it that I almost ran over our Unsub? No, I don’t really want to know! But you know that it was a freaking huge coincidence. Without you, we’d know nothing. We’re gonna find that man. He can’t have gotten far if he passed out in the middle of the street! Now breathe and focus.”

He stopped the car right at the side of the street and all three of them jumped out. Emily was still frantically speaking into her phone, while Derek was pulling on his bulletproof vest while running. Spencer followed his example and then looked around hastily. So far, Peter Davids was nowhere to be seen, but people in the streets were noticing them now, shouts getting louder. Derek pushed forward relentlessly, checking every corner, every side street. Spencer paused to think. Where would the man hide? Where would he wait out the sudden fever until he could walk properly again? In his condition, he was definitely not able to get far. Spencer looked around, and then it hit him like a brick.

Only about twenty feet from him was a big, modern public library. There was no time to lose. Spencer urged forward, ran, and drew his gun out of its holster while running. Within seconds, he’d reached the entrance door and pushed it opened. He burst into the quiet that he normally regarded as holy, and forced himself not to think about how he was destroying the magical atmosphere of the place as he flashed his badge to the angry librarian and scanned the room with his eyes, determined to find Peter Davids. It was so silent that a paperclip would’ve been audible in the entire room. Then, Spencer heard a cough, and before he knew it, he’d jumped forward, his gun pointed with his finger on the triggered, and rushed around a row of shelves. There, crouched to the floor, he found the man that had committed at least six murders during the last few days.

“Peter Davids, FBI,” he said calmly. “Put your hands were I can see them.”

And then, in a burst of clarity that made panic flash through his clouded eyes, the man decided to run on his weak legs that barely carried his weight anymore. The sudden movement took Spencer by surprise, allowing the man a head start. He pushed forward then, and reached the professor in five long steps. The man broke into a coughing fit, and although a part of Spencer wanted to bring as much distance as just possible between the two of them, he forced himself to stay strong and turned Peter Davids’ arms onto his back to put them into handcuffs.

“Peter Davids, you’re under arrest for the murder of six women,” he gasped, out of breath, with relief flooding through him light a river of light. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand your rights?” While rattling off the obligatory phrases, Spencer searched the Unsub, and, crammed into the pocket of his worn-out denim jacket, he found the drone that the man had used last. It didn’t carry a thorn. A little nametag on it said ‘Melanie Evans’. Spencer stared at the man he’d pinned down in disgust, the man who used his students’ inventions to commit murders. As soon as he was sure that he had the Unsub under control, Spencer took his phone and called Hotch. He quickly needed reinforcement. People at the library were staring at him with wide eyes. Nervous voices filled the formerly quiet room. The librarian wasn’t amused.

“Hotchner?” At least the senior profiler answered his phone immediately. Spencer took a breath of relief. Beneath his knees, the Unsub struggled still, but he was too weak to break free, even when Spencer held him back just with one hand and his knees.

“Hotch, it’s Reid. I’ve got him. I found the drone in his pocket. I need reinforcement at the library.” He quickly gave his boss the exact address.

“You shouldn’t have gone in there alone,” Hotch scolded. “But apart from that, well done. You’ll get reinforcement in a second.”

“And paramedics,” Spencer added as yet another fit of coughing emerged from the sick man’s bronchial tubes.

“Alright. We’ll be there soon.” The call was ended. Spencer slowly got up, pulling the Unsub back onto his feet as well, his arms still held back on his back by handcuffs. The older man was limp like a wet bag of flour under his grip, occasionally coughing. His skin radiated heat. As Spencer was just beginning to push him towards the exit, Derek barged into the library, followed by Emily and a team of the local police. Spencer willingly handed Peter Davids over to them. While Emily went to talk to the librarian, he subtly brushed his hand against Derek’s. The older man smiled proudly.

“Amazing job you’ve done there, pretty boy. I just wish you’d take some more care.” He leaned closer, whispering. His breath caressed the sensitive skin at Spencer’s temples, making him shudder. “How am I supposed to live without you if your recklessness gets you killed one day? I love you.”

“I love you too,” Spencer whispered back. They didn’t get any more intimacy. Of course, after the tumult they’d caused, the media went berserk. The librarian looked like she was not far from collapsing, but together, Derek, Spencer and JJ, who had joined them, managed to at least get the shouting reporters out of the library. With the tension falling off him, Spencer’s action were mechanic as he left the media to JJ and Peter Davids to the local police. They wouldn’t need a confession from him anymore. They had enough proof to get him locked away for a long time. Hotch and Rossi were on their way to his apartment already. Exhausted, he leaned against the SUV and watched the mass of people from afar, bringing distance between him and the noise and the throng.

He concentrated on his breathing, and took his phone into shaky hands when that wouldn’t work. Now that all was over, wave after wave of sensory overload hit him, but he managed to press the right speed dial button and hold the phone up to his ear.

_“Maeve Donovan.”_

“Maeve,” he breathed. “It’s Spencer.”

_“Are you on a case?” She asked immediately, hearing how distressed he was._

“Yes,” he answered. Talking helped him already, gave him something to focus on. They’d been working together for almost a year, and with time, developed techniques like this one when everything became too much. Although it now happened rarely that Spencer called, her number stayed on speed dial, and she always picked up to reassure him in her calm voice when he just needed someone who was not involved. Derek, of course, understood, often shielding Spencer when he was on the phone, making sure he had his five minutes. “But it’s done. We caught the Unsub ten minutes ago. The media are going crazy.”

_“I want you close your eyes and breathe in slowly.” Her words were slow and clear. Spencer followed the instructions automatically, blending out everything around him. “And now, release the air again. Breathe in, breathe out. Can you control your breathing again? Good. Open your eyes.”_

He opened his eyes, blinded for a moment by the bright light, and blinked. Oxygen filled his lungs and made the dizziness subside.

_“Tell me about something you can see. Describe details. Focus.” Her voice stayed the same, calm and organized. It brought peace into the chaos of Spencer’s mind._

“There’s a bucket of flowers on the pavement, at a distance of approximately six feet from the car I’m leaning against. The flowers are pansies in violet, black, yellow and white. The bucket is made of brown clay, round, and measures approximately thirty square inches at the top and fifteen square inches at the bottom.”

_“You’re doing great,” Maeve encouraged him. “Now pick out one person in the crowd and describe them to me.”_

“I can see JJ,” he said. “She’s got long blonde hair, but it is in a high ponytail right now. She’s facing away from me. She’s giving a statement to the reporters. Emily is next to her.”

_“Great, Spencer. Do you feel better?”_

“Yes.” He sighed. “Thank you.”

_“You know that you can always call me, it’s good that you did. Apart from that, how have you been doing recently? Are we still up for the appointment Monday night if you’re not on a case then?”_

“I’ve been doing really well until now, things went great recently.” Spencer blinked as he watched Derek make his way out of the crowd, approaching the car. “And yes, we’re still up for Monday night.”

_“I’m happy to hear that. I should get back to my client now,” she excused herself. “I’ll see you on Monday.”_

“Good bye.” He hung up feeling much better. The lights didn’t blind him anymore, and the noise didn’t cut into his ears like knives. Derek reached him when he’d stuffed his phone back into his pocket. The older man smiled softly.

“Hey there, pretty boy,” he muttered. “Was that Maeve?” Spencer just nodded. All words were drained from him. “You okay with me hugging you?”

“Always,” he whispered. Derek’s smile widened, and he wrapped his strong arms around Spencer, who melted into the touch, burying his face in Derek’s neck.

“I don’t know whether this is the kind of information you want to hear about,” Derek began when they’d broke apart reluctantly. Not even being able to hug each other for a long time out in the open made Spencer’s skin itch. “I just talked to Hotch. He and Rossi found Elena Davids in the flat they lived in in. Her body. She’s been dead for a few days already. Poison has been injected multiple times, all over her body.”

“Great.” Spencer pulled a face, disgusted. “At least we won’t have to look for her then.”

Derek chuckled. “True. We should be able to go home soon, even. How about I take you out for some fancy dinner tonight? We still have an anniversary to celebrate, if I’m not mistaken.”

“You’re not.” Spencer grinned, subtly leaning in to Derek, stealing a fraction of his favourite inexhaustible heat source. “Dinner would be nice.”

“That’s settled, then. I’d say your choice but I’ve already made reservations.”

“I’m looking forward to it, then.” Spencer beamed at his boyfriend. They watched the chaos in front of them in silence for a while, which admittedly was rather unprofessional, but to their defence, they’d also practically solved the entire case alone. Their peace was then disturbed by JJ practically running towards them, her expression a furious glare which softened as soon as she realized why exactly they weren’t helping her.

“Oh,” was all she said when she reached them, then: “Hotch says we’re leaving in half an hour. He wants to be back for some party Jack has tonight, and Henry won’t mind either if we make it back before his bedtime. I suppose you won’t mind either?”

“Not at all,” Derek answered with a mysterious smile.

As much as Spencer thought about it during the short flight back, he couldn’t figure out the reason for that special grin. And it was a special grin. Derek was generally a happy person; he passed his smiles out as if he had an inexhaustible supply of them, gave them to strangers, colleagues, even people he didn’t like; he also had a few smiles that were reserved for people that Spencer had seen and memorized, like the one for his mum, for Garcia, and for Spencer himself. But in eleven years of them working together, the younger agent had never once seen this grin before.

When he couldn’t figure it out and gave up, he looked over his shoulder to ask Emily whether she wanted to play a round of Poker or chess, but the woman was deeply engrossed in a conversation with JJ that had them both smiling brightly, cheeks flushed. Spencer didn’t particularly try to analyse the matching joy on their faces, but it would definitely not surprise him if Emily was going home with JJ that evening. Happiness seeped through him at JJ’s smile. He considered her his older sister, just like she saw him as her little brother, and JJ’s happiness was always contagious, radiating from her like she was the sun.

When they’d landed, though, he did not have any more time or thoughts to spare on the pair of them. His entire being, mind and body and soul, was focused on Derek. As soon as they’d gotten into the car they’d arrived at the bureau with that very moment, they were free. There were no fraternization regulations stopping them from holding hands, neither were there hungry wolves from television and newspaper waiting to slam their teeth into the story of two gay, romantically involved elite FBI profilers. It was just the two of them in their private little space.

Derek put on music when they got home. It was still light outside for a change, and the sound of him singing along in a smooth voice, though never quite hitting the right notes, filled the house with joy as they changed out of their black work clothes. Derek put on dress pants and a white dress shirt, carefully ironed. When he realized Spencer’s distress at the choice of clothing, he laughed softly mid-song and picked out a pair of white jeans and a red dress shirt they’d bought together a few months ago when shopping had still been difficult. Spencer put the clothes on and brushed his hair carefully that was back to long and silky, and then only weakly protested when Derek ran his hands through it, ruining it. It was almost nine pm when they were ready, but the night was mild and their love would’ve kept them warm in an arctic snowstorm.

Spencer’s cheeks were flushed after the first glass of red wine at the fancy Italian restaurant Derek had brought him to, matching his dress shirt and accentuating his cheekbones and plump lips just so that Derek wanted to kiss the brains out of him right there in their private little booth. He contented himself with a smile, though, and holding Spencer’s hand over the table. The wine was refilled and their food arrived. Their faces were glowing in the warm candle light as the soft black sky of the night settled outside.

The pizza they shared looked like a heart.

“I love you,” Derek simply said at Spencer’s questioning glance. He didn’t say that he’d ordered their food already two weeks back. Spencer smiled, and squeezed his hand.

They ate their pizza talking about anything and nothing, and wine was refilled a second time. Spencer felt light and intoxicated, but he couldn’t determine in his haze whether the wine was the cause, or Derek’s eyes and skin on his own, or a mix of both. The high was better though than any drugs had ever felt.

He didn’t register Derek had ordered dessert before it arrived, a chocolate lava cake placed in front of them on a heart-shaped plate. If he hadn’t been intoxicated as it was, and unable to think, he would’ve surely suspected by then, but as it was, he stayed clueless until Derek stopped talking mid-sentence (he hadn’t really been listening to his words anyway, just his voice) and took his hand out of Spencer’s.

“Derek?” He asked slowly.

“Pretty boy,” Derek breathed. He took something out of his pocket, and Spencer’s eyes widened as he placed a small, black box on the table. His hands were shaking lightly, but his breathing was even unlike the younger man’s, whose heart skipped a beat. When he talked, words bursting out of his mouth, Spencer held his breath. He was holding his fork in the air without even noticing, frozen.

“Pretty boy, we’ve been together for a year and six days now. I wanted this date to happen six days ago, but no one knows better than you how our jobs work, so I had to rewrite my speech. We’ve been together for a year and six days, but I’ve loved you for so much longer. Fuck, I’ve loved you before I even knew it myself. I love you so damn much, and I didn’t mean to swear, but you, pretty boy, make me lose control. I never want to be without you again. I want to spend my entire life with you. I want to chase criminals until we’re in wheelchairs one day, and then I want to watch our grandchildren running around in the garden of our big house somewhere in Florida, or maybe even Europe, and I want your pretty face to be the last thing I see every night before I fall asleep. I need you to be my light in all the darkness that surrounds us. Spencer Reid, will you marry me?”

The world stopped around them as Derek took a ring out of his pocket, plain and silver, and presented it to Spencer, who still sat frozen in shock, still not breathing, until realization hit him hard, making him drop his fork. Its impact on the table caused a shattering noise, and life flooded back into his body as the barrier broke.

“Yes,” he breathed, gasping for air, his lungs desperate for oxygen, his heart filled to the brim with bubbling, red-hot lava. Tears built up in his eyes, but it were tears of joy. “Yes, yes, yes. Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot.”

“Oh, thank god,” Derek sighed with the widest smile on his face that lit up his eyes like a million Christmas tears, like Las Vegas in the middle of the night. “You had me worried here for a moment.”

He slipped the ring on Spencer’s finger, and of course it fit perfectly. Everything was perfect. They were perfect. Life was perfect, and finally, he was able to accept that he deserved this, deserved his job, Derek, everything. He deserved to love others, deserved to be loved, and deserved to love himself.

Spencer couldn’t have been happier.

He was determined to keep it that way.


End file.
